


Reformation

by dayoldcupcake



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-30 07:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6413662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayoldcupcake/pseuds/dayoldcupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Marsh Dynasty has lasted centuries, but their reign, and particularly that of the current King, may come to an end at the hands of an underground network of rebels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first attempt at writing a story, so please don't hold back your constructive feedback, even if it's critical. Really! I'm super cereal about this you guys! I want to write more after this, but preferably not a bunch of stuff that sucks.
> 
> A few things, though... this story is super cheesy and hackneyed, fairly fast-paced, and very focused on a single character's POV. I didn't want to bite off more than I could chew, though I do apologize for being lazy and selfish in these ways.

He feels a headache developing; at the moment, it’s just a dull, tense feeling, but if he doesn’t relax now, he’ll have to spend the afternoon laid up here in the dark. He can’t afford to rest though, not ever but especially not today, a day the entire kingdom has been dreading for months. The kitchens will be busier than he has ever seen, and nothing short of perfection will be tolerated. King Randy rewards inadequacy with anything from flogging to execution, and there is little consistency linking the severities of various crimes and punishments; they usually hinge simply on the King’s mood, level of sobriety, and sometimes the prettiness of the servant in question. Just last month, Clyde spent a week in the dungeons for allowing a single drop of tea to spill from a cup to its saucer.

He is jolted from his achy stupor when he hears his friend, a beautiful young woman with long, golden hair and striking blue eyes, addressing him. "Kyle! Are you even listening?" she asks. "How can you just sit there?!” They’re sitting together on Kyle’s bed, a simple, thin mat, in the sleeping area they share with Kyle’s parents, brother, and a dozen other people. Kyle has his legs stretched forward and back resting against the wall. Bebe is sitting with crossed legs, leaning in toward him. He does his best to contort his face into something pleading and pitiful. “Of course I care. It’s just that I know I can’t do anything about it.”

That wasn’t the answer she wanted. Bebe lowers her voice, which somehow makes it all the more menacing, her words delicately infused with fury. “It’s disgusting.”

“You’re right. It’s despicable,” he replies.

“That vile, rotting pile of garbage has no right.”

Kyle takes a breath, slow and deep, his eyes never leaving hers. “Bebe, _I know_. But what can we do about it? We need to pick our battles carefully. Is this a good use of our energy?” His mind flashes through images of mass starvation, stockpiled vaccines, and the causalities of unnecessary wars. “This is just one girl. I feel sorry for her, you know I do! But she is just not worth risking everything.”

He knows this; Bebe knows this; the rest of their underground coalition knows it too. It’s another outrage in a long procession of atrocities, but this one certainly doesn’t rise to the level of a battle worth fighting. Bebe just needs to vent, and he can sympathize. It’s one of those things she just feels more viscerally than him; as a scrawny, short boy with curly red hair, he is largely safe from many of the terrors of King Randy. He is not a girl, and he is too petite to make a good solider. That doesn’t mean he isn’t nauseated by the thought of the prince gleefully selecting himself a birthday present from a ballroom full of elaborately dressed women, none of whom had the opportunity to decline their invitations to be there. But while Kyle’s revulsion is bred by simple human decency and a lifelong hatred of his rulers, Bebe’s disgust is much more personal.

He remembers meeting her when they were both six years old. Her small body was shaking with sobs; she was clutching Kyle’s mother’s left hand with both of hers, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Sheila had introduced her, explained she’d be living with them, and instructed Kyle to treat her with kindness. Sheila then escorted her to the sleeping quarters where she’d have privacy to grieve.

For two days Kyle didn’t see her except at night, and even then as nothing but a mound of quivering blankets. Then, one afternoon, Bebe had come up beside him and begun to chop carrots. She was silent; her eyes were dry, her expression stony, and she didn’t speak. Their early friendship consisted of small, quiet gestures; helping carry heavy baskets of potatoes, cleaning each other’s knife cuts, or covering for each other when one of them overslept or felt ill. It took several months for her to speak, and even then it was just a barely audible 'thank you.' Two years into their friendship, she finally explained how she had ended up in the kitchens.

Bebe started working when she was two years old, assisting her mother as one of the Queen’s servants. For the earliest years of her life, Bebe lived one of the most privileged lives possible for a young peasant girl. The Queen is patient and treats her servants with kindness. In the privacy of her rooms, she even thanks them. Having outlived her usefulness to the King, providing him just enough to spare her life and ensure a comfortable retirement, the Queen’s wing of the castle is largely quiet and safe, rarely visited by the King.

Then, as Bebe’s mother was accompanying the Queen to a holiday banquet, the King took a special liking to her. Days later, Bebe’s father was shipped off to battle, an undeniable death sentence. Once her mother was relocated to provide the King companionship, Bebe had to go too, and they sent her down to the kitchens. At the time, she was too young to understand why her family was being separated, but she understood that they were, and that it’d probably be forever.

Fortunately, while less appealing on the surface, kitchen work is also highly desirable; they have shelter and food, as do most castle servants, but their job particularly lauds invisibility. They sleep in the frigid basement and work sixteen hours a day in the broiling kitchen, but they are also largely left alone by those above them. This invisibility has kept Bebe safe from appraising eyes; she certainly would be married to a soldier or guard by now, had she not been relocated and forgotten. Especially now, at sixteen, she is quickly becoming too old to make a proper bride. 

And as her fear melted away, righteous fury quickly replaced it. Throughout their decade together, Kyle and Bebe transformed from obedient children into a couple of formidable rebels. Strong-willed, furious, and well-versed in the politics of their kingdom and those beyond, they’re active members of the Republican Rebels and make up half of the members that reside within the castle walls. The majority of rebels serve in the military; they have the most to lose.

It was through their work with the RR that they later learned about the campaign that claimed her father’s life. It was unnecessary to an exaggerated extent, even for the King, who regularly sends small armies to neighboring kingdoms in retaliation for the most miniscule of slights. King Randy has a particular hatred for Emperor Cartman, a young tyrant with a short temper, petulant nature, and narcissism that rivals his own. Cartman, however, also has a special talent for manipulating long, elaborate schemes that can outwit even the most intelligent of monarchs, of which Randy is not one. The threat of a sincere, full-scale invasion by the Cartman Empire, and the Marsh Kingdom’s complete lack of preparedness, is high on the list of concerns for the RR.

His thoughts return to the present, and to his laundry list of grievances. The only upside is that Kyle no longer sees any trace of a quivering little girl within Bebe; looking into her eyes, he sees only a fierce warrior remaining. At times, when he can’t quite cope with some particularly bad news, he allows his imagination to paint a fantasy world where they are at open war with the Marsh Monarchy; in his daydreams, they usually have magic, and they always win. Today, he decks out Bebe in shining armor, equips her with a magnificent sword, and for good measure, seats her on the back of a dragon.

Bebe’s voice spikes two octaves. “Are you smirking? Is this fucking funny to you?”

Kyle puts both hands up in a sign of surrender. “Of course not! This ball is going to be a complete shitshow. I was just trying to distract myself, you know, mentally.” Bebe quirks an eyebrow. She knows about his version of meditation. “I imagined you riding some great dragon. You’d bust in on the ball tonight and just... roast the King. To fucking ashes.”

It takes a few seconds, but a smile appears. “Okay, but what about his slimeball heir?" she asks. "The birthday boy?”

“You weren’t exactly aiming for him, but you know how dragons are... they don’t have the best aim. You took out most of their guards, too.”

Bebe closes her eyes, savoring the fantasy for a moment, but then it’s back to reality. “We should get to work. Your mother is going to skin us for ducking out as it is...”

And so they creep back into the kitchen with as much stealth as they can manage, but of course, Sheila spies them almost immediately. She rounds on Kyle, who instinctively braces himself for the explosion. His mother gets going for a good three minutes, hollering about the enormous amount of work they have to get done, and about the devastation of having such an irresponsible and selfish son. When she begins scolding Kyle for his recklessness and complete disregard for his own life, a familiar mournful shake penetrates her voice, and he freezes. Although Kyle and Bebe try desperately to keep their rebel deeds completely secret, and although Sheila’s never said anything directly, they’re certain she is somewhere between suspecting and knowing.

Feeling merciful, Bebe slides in between them, shielding Kyle from his mother. Before Bebe can open her mouth to apologize, Sheila deflates, pulls her into a hug, and sweetly suggests that they go wash the lettuce. As they head off toward the sinks, Sheila reaches back to give Kyle a strong smack to the side of the head. “Don’t act like you don’t know better! And don’t you dare hide behind your girlfriend!”

Now sporting a legitimate headache, he scowls at Bebe, who is barely containing laughter. “Sorry, man, I tried,” she says.

“Shut up,” he grumbles back.

Kyle wishes his mother would stop calling her that. Bebe confessed her feelings in spring, over a boiling pot of cabbage, with no trace of embarrassment. It was a statement, really. I think we should be a couple. Sheila, naturally, overheard, and now can’t be convinced they’re anything less than soulmates. But Kyle didn’t know how to respond; he hadn’t even considered the possibility of a romance between them. He loves Bebe, certainly, but he sees her as a sister. At her insistence, they’ve kissed a few times, and it’s not bad, but it’s definitely not something he craves. He has tried and failed to articulate his feelings to her—he loves her, but he doesn’t desire her, even though he is keenly aware of how uniquely beautiful and desirable she is—and although she claims not to understand, she has at least stopped requesting kisses.

Kyle and Bebe spend the next four hours washing and dicing vegetables for salads, then peel and boil potatoes for another three, and finally wrap up with four hours of dish washing. They snack as they work; if anyone were to suggest a break for lunch or dinner, they’d get laughed out of the kitchen. And then probably beheaded.

After nearly twelve straight hours of work, Sheila informs Kyle that he is to help prepare the banquet upstairs. Kyle wants to fume and refuse the chore; he’d never leave the basement if he had a say in the matter. Instead, he focuses on his breath; his old friend, Tweek, taught him this calming method. Consequently, Kyle hasn't seen Tweek in years, not since he got physically thrown from the castle for breaking too many plates.

Kyle understands the necessity. The usual servers and attendants will be catering to hundreds of special guests, and several of the younger kitchen servants are too young and potentially beautiful to be sent upstairs, especially today, and especially to _this_ ball. Others are too old or frail to be carrying armloads of food up multiple flights of slippery marble stairs.

It’s just that Kyle really doesn’t like to be anywhere near the royals; he is a terrible actor, incapable of displaying anything but the utmost loathing toward them. He also suffers from an awful temper; he can sort of control it after years of practice, but only with moderate success. Nothing would ever stop him from attempting to knife the King in the fucking throat, though, were he to have the opportunity. He survived to the age of fifteen mostly due to the isolating nature of kitchen work.

Still, Kyle thinks of all the reasons Bebe wasn’t asked and obediently takes the heavy plates. He and a small army of servants start carrying the massive amounts of food from the basement to the ballroom. It’ll take a dozen trips and they only have one hour to finish preparations. After that, the ballroom will be flooded with young women, high-ranking guests, and the royal family, for a ball likely to go well into the night.

********

Three hours into the ball, Kyle is sent back upstairs to replenish the potato-leek soup, his mother’s own recipe, one that is apparently very popular with the guests. He has already been sent up to restock food six times since the start of the ball. He ascends the staircases carefully, mindful that a misstep would be the end. He is okay with death; he has been around it his entire life, but he wants to die for a cause: spying for the RR, attempting to assassinate the King, or taking the fall for Bebe are all acceptable ways to go; dropping a pot of soup on Prince Douchebag’s birthday is not.

He switches out the bowls and tidies up the table; as is his habit, he keeps himself facing away from the raised platform where the royal family are seated. No way could he emulate an appropriate level of adoration for them. As he turns to hurry back to the safety of the basement, he senses two people coming up behind him. Once he makes out the distinct sound of guards’ boots, icy dread begins seeping through his veins. He searches his mind, trying to pinpoint which of his numerous traitorous actions may have been uncovered. Or was it some other minor oversight? Is it a crime to turn your back on the King? He doesn’t recall any such rule, but what the hell does he know, having been born and raised in the basement? His thoughts are racing, searching for an explanation, even as the guards grab hold of his arms and drag him out and away from the ballroom.


	2. Chapter 2

He isn’t going to the dungeons. That’s the only thing Kyle is sure about.

His mind stops racing as soon as the guards take a left turn, up the stairs instead of down. With each new flight of stairs ascended, however, his confusion only intensifies. What exactly did he do, and why is he being taken to such a grand wing of the castle? He is familiar with only a tiny section of the castle grounds; the basement, a few staircases and corridors leading to the ground floor, and as of tonight, one of the ballrooms. He also knows a little of the surrounding villages, having gone to fetch produce and meet with rebel friends. However, the overwhelming majority of the castle and kingdom is unknown to him.

Kyle ends up somewhere on an upper floor, approaching a secluded wing. Looking around, memories that aren’t quite real of a similar place enter his mind, mental images painted by Bebe’s stories of her time serving the Queen. Kyle starts taking note of the extravagance of everything. He spots marble tiles, light fixtures, paintings, and other decorations; any single item could be traded for enough food to feed a family for months.

Distracted by a particularly expensive-looking vase to his right, Kyle is caught by surprise when the guards shove him into a room, looking back just as they shut a great wooden door behind him. The room is handsomely decorated and spacious, with plush sofas and chairs, elaborately woven rugs that cover the floors, thirty-foot-tall windows, and a dining area beside a great fireplace. There are small corridors leading to additional rooms, presumably including sleeping and bathing areas.

Immediately, he is confronted with four young women, and two things are immediately clear: these girls were expecting someone, and that someone was not him. They’re nervously glancing between one another, to him, and then back to each other.

One of the women, a pretty teenager with black hair and blue eyes, breaks the tension. “Come on, we have our instructions, and not much time.”

Since she’s clearly in charge, Kyle intends to get his information from her. That is, until he gets a better look at her face. Because, as fate would have it, she is one of the only people in this entire castle that he knows outside of the kitchens. He absolutely can’t let on about this, however, because they met in the forest while plotting treason.

Kyle lacks all faith in his ability to conceal his true feelings, so even as he feigns ignorance, he practices a few back-up excuses in his head. _’Oh, she just reminds me of a childhood crush.’_ He’s so focused internally that he doesn’t realize Wendy is addressing him. Wait, no, he isn’t supposed to know her name.

The girl who he definitely doesn’t know is addressing him.

Wendy repeats herself, “Take off your clothes and follow us.”

“Pardon me?” he asks.

“We’ve been instructed to bathe you. Hurry up.”

He wants more time to plan out a strategy for extracting information from these girls, particularly the other three, so he does as he is asked. It’s unnerving to undress in such a large, empty room, and three of the girls are staring directly at him while he does so. The fourth has gone ahead to, presumably, check on the bath.

Once naked, the women lead him through a small corridor and into an equally spacious bathing chamber. Having spent his entire life cramped alongside other people, these wide-open rooms leave Kyle feeling incredibly vulnerable, much more so than the unfamiliar place, strange women, or nudity.

The bath is wonderful, though. He has never had a bath before, and certainly not one with such pleasantly hot water, full of bubbles scented with lavender. A small voice in the back of his head insists that he figure out why he is here and make a plan, but in the moment, his humanity wins. Achy, worried, and exhausted from overwork, against his better judgement, Kyle shuts down his mind and begins drifting to sleep as the women scrub him.

He nods off completely at one point; he isn’t sure for how long, but in an instant he is fully awake again as the women begin cleaning parts of him that nobody should ever care to see. He gives them a wide-eyed, scandalized look, which they return with expressions of understanding and sympathy. These women are powerless servants, so Kyle struggles to focus on the scent of the lavender and not the humiliating intrusiveness of their washing.

At least there is no longer any doubt as to why he was brought here. The women help him from the bath, dry him, and apply various fragrant, moisturizing products. As they work, Kyle runs through the list of positives in his head. He wasn’t caught spying. He’ll probably be sent right back to the kitchens tomorrow morning. He can ease the worries of Bebe and his family, who are either worried that he’s missing, or worried because they know exactly where he is. 

The same couldn’t have been said were a young woman selected. Although she would have returned to her family initially, she’d be watched carefully in the subsequent months. In the past, whenever a woman was rumored to gain significant weight following an intimate audience with the King or a member of his council, a tragic accident inevitably followed. Were Kyle not the one standing in this room, grinding his teeth as the women apply lotion _everywhere_ , he’d be pointing to this plot twist as an obvious positive. No poor girl is going to stumble into the woods and be devoured by wolves a few months from now.

Wendy drapes Kyle in an elegant tunic, one he again notices to be more valuable than the combined clothing of everyone he knows. Then, Wendy leads him back to the main room and down the opposite corridor, into the bedroom. She instructs him to wait here, gesturing to the bed.

He is so bone-tired, and has never felt anything so soft in his life, that he falls asleep almost immediately. He has a vague awareness when an older servant calls into the room, informing the girls that despite the slightly unexpected surprise, they are to follow their instructions all the same. Gossip ensues as the group wonders how the King reacted to such an abnormal selection by the Prince. Were Kyle not far away on a cloud of silken sheets, he’d want to bang his head into the wall; of course, the Prince had hundreds of appropriate options, and yet went ahead and selected the one thing he wasn’t supposed to.

********

It’s excruciating when Wendy shakes him awake. He is so comfortable and didn’t get to sleep nearly long enough. How is it that he feels a thousand times more exhausted than before he put his head down? Taking note of the large puddle of drool he left on a pillow, Kyle flips it over as he pulls himself up to a sitting position. Wendy whispers, “Wake up. His Royal Highness, the Prince, is on his way,” and hurries back out.

Finally, when the Prince enters the bed chamber, Kyle’s immediate first thought is, _wow, he is handsome_. He is so attractive, and this realization catches Kyle so off-guard, that Kyle has to focus hard on the fact that the guy is a monster. It’s also difficult to hate someone who is beaming with such unrestrained joy. “You must be so excited!”

Kyle readies himself and meets the Prince’s eyes, which are a deep blue color and just as beautiful as the rest of him; in Kyle’s mind, he is reciting, _You’re honored. Act like you’re honored!_ “Yes, Your Royal Highness.” In no way is it convincing.

Yet Stan’s joy only intensifies, clearly misinterpreting Kyle’s grimace. “Are you nervous?" he asks. "Of course you are! You understand the importance of tonight.” He steps fully into the room. “But don’t worry, this part is merely my reward for coming of age.” He approaches the bed, but noticing Kyle’s unchanged expression, stops and frowns slightly.

“I said, don’t worry,” Stan repeats. His happiness is diminishing, morphing into frustrated impatience. “I’m responsible for all the effort, and of course I’ll do everything with perfection.”

Kyle nods; he can barely keep the bile down. Is this fucker for real? 

“What’s wrong with you? Stop making that face,” Stan demands.

Kyle knew, from the moment he realized where he’d been taken and why, that this was almost definitely going to end very, very badly, but things are going south much faster than he predicted. He expected a King Randy, Jr.; someone selfish, stupid, impulsive, and a little cruel. Someone who would assume Kyle was faking any enthusiasm and probably enjoy the experience all the more for it. Instead, he is faced with a prince who seems to want genuine affection, and Kyle’s attempts to look the part are failing spectacularly. “Yes, Your Royal Highness.”

Stan climbs onto the bed and crawls over to Kyle, stopping when their faces are only a few inches apart, his blue eyes searching the green of Kyle’s. “...are you brain-damaged?” Stan inquires. Kyle replies to this question with a look of utter bewilderment, so Stan clarifies. “Were you kicked in the head by a horse or something?” He is not being mean; this concern is completely sincere.

Utilizing every ounce of patience that remains, Kyle replies, “No, Your Royal Highness.” Gradually, it dawns on him that if nothing short of honest-to-God sincerity will please Stan, there’s no reason to keep floundering. Exhausted and frustrated, he stops fighting to act polite and reverts to his authentic self. Kyle leans in close; they’re now only an inch apart. “...Are you?”

Oddly, the Prince doesn’t look angry, just a little shocked and very confused. It’s likely he has never been insulted to his face before. A full minute passes and the silence is excruciating. Finally, Stan narrows his eyes. “Anyone in the kingdom would be thrilled beyond their wildest dreams to have this honor of a lifetime.”

“I _am_ thrilled.” Kyle can taste the sarcasm as the words leave him.

“No, you’re not! So what’s wrong with you!?”

And with that, Kyle is left feeling like he was handed a puzzle he can’t quite solve. He expected selfishness, narcissism, and likely cruelty, but this pathetic ignorance is astounding. Does this guy really have such little clue about the state of things?

Aware of their close proximity, Kyle falls back against the headboard, putting more space between them. He puts both hands in his curls and tugs at them in frustration. The Prince is still awaiting an answer, and so Kyle offers one, exasperated, “Jesus Christ! Of course I’m not thrilled! Why the hell did you have them grab me, anyway? If you wanted a better actor, you should have selected one of those women who had a little forewarning and actually practiced looking happy to be here!”

“What do you mean—actor? Forewarning... practice? What the hell are you talking about?” 

“You know none of those women actually wanted to be selected, right?” Kyle says. Stan’s expression of outraged confusion stays put, so Kyle continues. “I know you can’t openly admit that, or else risk the façade of the inherit value of your—royal blood,“ sarcasm bleeds all over the words, “but, you do actually know that, right?”

“No,” Stan answers, clearly unhinged by the conversion, too taken aback to sound nearly as sure of himself as Kyle. “They’re all heartbroken... of course they wanted to be selected. They all begged to be invited to my ball!”

“No,” Kyle says, now speaking in a slow monotone, as if Stan were an especially stupid child, “Your father’s minions spent months trawling the Kingdom for all those beautiful, young women. Those selected had to attend, or else have their entire families killed.” Kyle studies the Prince’s face and concludes from his stunned discomfort that Stan honestly hasn’t a clue about what’s going on around him. “How do you not know any of this?”

“I haven’t been involved in Father’s work yet. I begin tomorrow. Once I become a man,” he says, sounding unsure, overwhelmed by the rest of the conversation. Stan then shakes his head as if to clear it, and when he speaks again, he sounds firm, and angry. “But you’re just a crazy person. Father would never do such a thing, and the peasants all adore us.”

“Have you ever met a villager before?” Something dawns on Kyle. “Have you even left the castle before?”

“No, it’s not safe,” and before Kyle can interject, Stan continues, “But only because the peasants would swarm me with exhilaration and love! You are the only person who feels this way... obviously, because your brain’s been damaged in some way!”

Kyle fantasizes about the next RR meeting, how he’ll jubilantly inform them that there is hope for the Kingdom after all; they need only lay low for a few years until King Randy drinks himself to death. Why? _Because didn’t you hear? His only son is a fucking moron!_ His joy is brief though; he remembers with a sick feeling that he is definitely not going to be attending any future meetings of the Republican Rebels.

He can only hope that when Bebe hears about this, she’ll know he did try. It’s not his fault that he can’t act, or control his temper, or deal with clueless idiots who think they’re superior just because of a meaningless biological connection to some distant ancestral asshole who somehow managed to terrify into submission Kyle’s own distant ancestors. “No, you’re just oblivious." Kyle says, his voice mean. "You’ve been evading knowledge for sixteen years like it’s your job. I’m actually kind of impressed by your mastery of not having a clue.”

“I am the Prince! I have royal blood!” Stan insists.

“You know that doesn’t really mean anything, right?” Kyle asks. Stan is silent, his mouth hanging open, staring at Kyle as though he’d just introduced himself as the leader of a race of ice cream-shitting tacos. Uninterrupted, Kyle continues, “Royalty are simply the ancestors of the most charismatic bully in the village. You are not stronger, or smarter, or inherently worth more than even a guy who shovels cow shit his whole life. Not really. Your blood isn’t any different than mine.” This, too, is met with silence. “Come on, you must know this.”

Kyle has finally found the line and crossed it. Stan makes a furious noise, reaches up, and strikes Kyle across the face, hard. “How dare you? I can have you hung!” he shouts.

Kyle releases the last sliver of his self-control; it’s utterly pointless to pretend there is any hope of getting out of this now. “Finally, you’re correct about something! Yes, you can. But I must ask, would you be a doll and get right to it,” Kyle says, gesturing around the room, “so I at least don’t have to first complete this nasty charade?”

Stan slides off the bed and stands; turning away from Kyle with a look of rage, he storms off to where the guards are stationed. Kyle can’t make out his words, but he is not surprised in the slightest when the Prince returns a minute later with both guards in toe.

This time, Kyle knows exactly where the guards are taking him, and why. He smiles the entire way there, not feeling the least bit sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

The smell of lavender lingers much longer than expected. It helps Kyle cope with the putrid smell of his surroundings. The dungeon cell is just large enough to offer room for pacing around, something he only bothers doing the first day. After that, he stays motionless, to conserve energy and to avoid the far corner he uses as a toilet. He covers his nose and mouth with his hands whenever he is forced to go near it, cherishing the lingering fragrance of his skin. Bebe loves to tease him, saying nobody so obsessed with cleanliness could ever make it as a rebel fighter. She’d say, all it would take is a drop of blood on your hand with no soap to clean it off, and you’d just drop dead!

Kyle has always fancied himself quite the badass, perfectly capable of adapting and toughing up in the face of adversity, but he begrudgingly offers Bebe credit. She obviously knows him well. He could be facing execution, torture, or the slow process of starving to death, but all he can think about is the contents of that one corner, and the layer of slime covering his entire body. He hasn’t eaten in four days either, but the feeling of muck under his fingernails somehow overpowers the emptiness of his stomach.

As the days slip by, he becomes too weak to focus on much of anything, not grime nor hunger nor what the future holds. At least the dankness has an upside; water pools in various crevices and drips from the walls at a regular consistency. It tastes like dirt and mold, but despite Bebe’s teasing, he actually is pretty resilient, so he keeps himself hydrated with it. When he is not licking the walls, he is lying on the ground on his back, watching spiders build webs above him. He is doing that now, hovering somewhere between wakefulness and unconsciousness, completely oblivious to the sound of footsteps approaching.

“You dead yet?” It’s a girl’s voice, but definitely not Bebe’s.

He turns his head slowly, peering up at Wendy with disinterest, and answers, “Nope. I haven’t been in the mood.”

“You really hit a nerve, you know,” she says. Kyle continues to stare at her blankly. “His Royal Highness hasn’t slept properly since his birthday,” Wendy continues. With great effort, Kyle pulls himself to a sitting position, his legs crossed, facing the door of his cage. He is swaying a little, dizzy from a lack of food, but also trying to look as stoic as possible.

“Jesus, do you always call him that?” Kyle asks.

Wendy crosses her arms, looking impatient. He wonders if she is always this way. At rebel meetings, she competes with him for the title of most talkative member; they often get into heated debates with one another. The other members usually watch silently, either too slow or too intimidated to interrupt or offer commentary. When Wendy isn’t talking, she sits there looking as she does now; annoyed by everyone’s intellectual inferiority. “Really?" she replies, her voice going up an octave. " _That’s_ the first question you have for me?”

Kyle narrows his eyes; he is too woozy to bother with any niceties. “I don’t want to start a conversation with you about that tool if you’re going to insist on referring to him by an absurd title.”

“Fine! Jesus, the Prince.” She rolls her eyes, but then steps closer, getting serious. “You really messed with his head.”

“Obviously. I’m not here because I enthusiastically reaffirmed his delusions. I gave him his very first dose of honesty, and now I’m being punished for it.”

She pauses, then kneels down so he’ll hear the next bit, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Not intentionally. He has no idea how prisoners are treated. He knows you’re locked up, sure, but he doesn’t understand what it’s like down here. He seems to think he can come collect you at any point, once he is prepared to debate with you again.” For the first time since she appeared down here, Wendy just looks sad. Kyle wonders if it’s because she has gotten close enough to smell him. “He doesn’t know that you’re dying.”

“So tell him.”

“You know it’s not that simple," she says, "but I have been trying. He kept asking us these direct questions, about how we’re treated, and how our families feel about his. Rebecca and those other girls just recite platitudes. I suggested that he ask you for a test, some way to demonstrate that you’re telling the truth. That’s why I’m here. He sent me to ask you, is there any way to prove that you’re not just insane?”

“You really expect me to believe that he cares how awful his father is? He still gets to live in a castle, command an army, have whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. I can prove myself, obviously, but that doesn’t mean it will change anything.”

Wendy sits, so close that her knees touch the metal bars. Kyle winces, thinking of the disgusting state of the dungeon floor. “You don’t know him. He is not a bad person,” she whispers. Kyle guffaws, short and mean. Wendy glares back, defiant. “No, I’m serious. I’ve served him since we were both children. I’m not saying I had much hope; I just assumed the King would beat the goodness out of him.” She pauses, and when Kyle remains silent, continues.

“Once, we were in the castle garden and saw an injured bird. I think one of the dogs bit it... I’m not sure. Anyway, it was obviously going to die, but it was happening so slowly. The Prince picked it up and spoke to it in this gentle voice. We told him to end its suffering, so he did. Then he buried it and sat there crying for hours. Don’t give me that look,” she says, glaring at Kyle, who must look condescending as all hell, “I’m serious. I have a hundred examples like that. He also refused to eat meat once, for months. He’d slip food to the dogs, or to us. It was really bad when the King found out. He made him butcher a cow as punishment. The Prince had nightmares for weeks.”

“So, he loves animals. That doesn’t mean he cares about people.”

“He has never been anything but kind to us. He has never raised his voice, or touched any of us.” Wendy says. Then, realizing Kyle remains unconvinced, and particularly annoyed at his _Really? You think that required self-control?_ reaction to her last statement, she huffs angrily. “Look, do you have anything to lose? Just think of something.” Wendy gives him a long look, as if to say, _but nothing sensitive to the cause_ , a look he returns with a glare. _Duh._

Kyle searches his brain. He can’t suggest anything that requires asking servants or villagers for the truth; they won’t be honest. He can’t suggest anything that would tip the King off to the existence of a rebel coalition, or even to himself, because this could potentially be his ticket out. There’s no point if he escapes, only to have the King toss him right back in for goading the Prince into disobedience. It has to be something that might seem sincere coming from Stan.

“Going outside," Kyle says. "Tell the Prince to ask the King to let him travel beyond the castle. He can just say he wants to witness his subjects in person now that he is getting involved with ruling. Either the King will refuse, knowing no amount of guards could make that trip safe, or he’ll allow it, and then the Prince can see for himself about how we all live.”

Wendy smiles, and it’s not tainted with sadness or arrogance. She seems to genuinely approve. “Okay, I’ll tell him.” Standing, she walks a few feet away, then returns with two large loaves of bread and a jug of water, which she places close enough for Kyle to reach. “Just stay alive for a few more days.”

********

The next time he hears footsteps, Kyle allows himself to feel hopeful. He is again lying on his back, but his eyes are closed. When the footsteps stop, he mumbles, “How’d it go?”

Met with silence, Kyle opens his eyes and freezes. It’s not Wendy. It’s the Prince.

Stan looks like he is going to vomit, or cry, or both, and Kyle tries to remember a time when vomit disgusted him. It sounds like an upgrade at the moment. He keeps gazing up at Stan, not daring to speak, mostly just because he can’t think of anything to say. Stan also seems to have forgotten how to speak. Then he turns and leaves.

After twenty minutes, nothing happens, and Kyle is sure it was a hallucination. Eventually, the two guards do return, unlock the door, and lift Kyle off the floor. They don’t ask if he can walk; they probably know he can’t. With no explanation, they carry him out of the cell and away from the dungeon.

Kyle drifts in and out of consciousness, but manages to piece together that he is headed back to the Prince’s chambers. Kyle experiences intense déjà vu as he is again left just inside the room, the guards retreating back behind the closed door. He is again welcomed by four women, including Wendy. They bathe, dry, and dress him, stopping at intervals to gently coax water down his throat. Finally, they carry him to the bed where they deposit him. He passes out immediately.

*******

He awakes to find the Prince gently shaking him. Stan is on his knees beside Kyle, who glares and hisses, “Don’t touch me.”

Stan sits back, studying Kyle and frowning. “You know, you’re kind of a dick.” He calls to Rebecca, who is standing nearby with a tray of finely chopped fruits and vegetables. “Bring those here.” She hands the tray to Stan, who lays it in front of Kyle.

Kyle’s reaction is an even nastier frown, and Stan seems to be figuring out what to say to diffuse his anger. Stan finally settles for saying, “I didn’t know they weren’t feeding you.” His voice breaks, and he again looks like he is about to cry. “I asked the guards why they weren’t giving you food, and they just kept apologizing. Saying they were to blame and would accept any punishment. I asked if they ever feed the prisoners, and they wouldn’t say anything. I don’t think they do. I think they were told not to. I kept asking, _did my father instruct you not to feed the prisoners?_ , but they wouldn’t answer me.”

When Stan realizes he is talking more to himself than to Kyle, he stops and watches Kyle with a look of desperate sadness. “I just thought they were going to put you in a room and lock it. I’ve never been down there before. I had no idea.”

Kyle is finding it difficult to continue scowling at such a beautiful face wearing such a pathetic expression, but he is not yet buying this shit either. He remains silent. Stan keeps watching Kyle expectantly, but eventually gives up on getting a response, and continues, “I asked father to allow me to visit the peasants—“

“—villagers,” Kyle interrupts, surly and unapologetic.

“—to visit the villagers, and you were right, he wouldn’t have it. He gave a thousand excuses at first, and then when I kept insisting, he started telling me about how many of them are jealous of our wealth and power and how they are not to be trusted. I think you are right about him.”

“Obviously.”

“Why are you so mean? I’m apologizing. I’m saying you were right.”

“I don’t need your validation to know that I’m right and you’re an ignorant moron," Kyle says. "And, you actually haven’t apologized yet.”

“Yes, I did! I said—“

“—you said that you didn’t know. That’s not an apology.”

“Fine! Jesus!” Stan takes a deep breath and says, “I’m sorry.”

Kyle can’t hide his surprise. “Really?”

“Yes. And,” Stan braces himself, anxious about how Kyle will respond to his next words, “I want you to teach me. About what it’s like, from the perspective of a pea—villager.” He is nervously toying with a handful of bedsheets, his eyes downcast.

“So your father can find out and have my entire family tortured?”

Stan winces and chews at his bottom lip. “No, we’d keep it a secret.” Anticipating Kyle’s next concern, he quickly adds, “Not that you’re spending time here. That would be too difficult to hide. I’ll just tell him that I really enjoyed my birthday and wanted, um, you know, some more. But that’s just an excuse! It won’t be real.” He studies Kyle’s face, clearly desperate to find approval there. And yet, eager to appeal to Kyle’s good side as he is, he mumbles, “...unless you wanted it to be?”

“If you don’t want me to be mean, you need to stop saying things that make me want to hit you.”

“No, you’re right; I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry. But, will you? Teach me? Can you trust me?”

“No,” Kyle replies, and Stan’s face falls immediately, “I can’t trust you.” Stan can’t meet Kyle’s eyes as he worries the bedsheet between his hands with such strength Kyle fears he’ll break skin. “You don’t understand how much you’re asking.” Stan opens his mouth to argue, but Kyle cuts him off. “That said, I have no reason not to help you. So I will. But that doesn’t mean I trust you.” 

They discuss the details; Stan wants Kyle to become a personal servant, joining Wendy’s group, but Kyle insists on returning to the kitchens. When he explains that he misses his family, Stan is understanding; when he mentions Bebe, Stan won’t meet his eyes. He is escorted to the basement by one guard who never lays a hand on him. During the long walk back, Kyle’s head spins with the relief of seeing his family and Bebe again, the dread of having to pretend to be the Prince’s one-man harem, the fear of conspiring right under the King’s nose, and the hope of what could be if he succeeds at educating the Prince.


	4. Chapter 4

Returning to work is an exercise in surviving torture. Nobody will look Kyle in the eye, and everyone speaks softly, as though he may go berserk at any moment. Bebe is dead silent, but Kyle keeps catching her sending long, sad looks his way. The only person who acts remotely normal is his mother, but she does so with a blunt determination that makes it all the more disturbing. Kyle would be going completely insane if it weren’t for the reassuring knowledge that Bebe will know everything soon. He distracts himself by planning out exactly how he’ll explain the details of his implausible six-day ordeal to her.

At first, Kyle thinks it best to keep Bebe in the dark. He hasn’t ruled out the possibility of this all being an elaborate trap, and part of him wants to protect Bebe, even though she’d never forgive him for doing so. And yet, despite his initial resolve, after just ten minutes of Sheila bossing him through a casserole recipe without any mention of his six day disappearance or ten pound weight loss, he accepts that he needs the moral support of his best friend to survive this awkward nightmare.

No one objects when Kyle asks permission to take a break, and Bebe knows to follow without being asked. They make themselves comfortable on his bed and Kyle immediately explains everything, about how he was taken from the ballroom, his meeting with the Prince, his days in the dungeon, Wendy’s part in getting him out, and the Prince's request. Bebe doesn't react at any point during the story, and remains unreadable now that he has finished telling it. Kyle pushes for a reaction, "So?"

“Well, um,” Bebe is stumbling over her words, something that usually only happens when she has to tell Kyle something he isn’t going to like. “You know you can be honest with me, right? You can tell me anything. I'm not going to judge you."

The babying tone of her voice is pissing him off even more than her words. "Bebe, I just did.”

“Well, you. You told me a very interesting story. I," she hesitates again, "I understand that you might not want to describe everything that happened, but at least give me some idea. We were all so worried. Why were you gone for six days? Why are you so thin?”

Kyle chews on the insides of his cheeks, biting back a furious reply. So Bebe doesn't believe him. That's fine. He wasn't originally going to tell her anyway, but then he felt guilty about withholding such huge news from his best friend, and now he's absolved of any guilt. It actually works out. "Never mind. I gotta get back to helping mom with that casserole anyway."

"Kyle—" She calls after him, pleading, but he is already gone.

When Kyle re-emerges in the kitchen, Sheila welcomes him with a smile so forced it makes Kyle queasy. Bebe joins him; over the next several hours, she looks his way almost constantly, but Kyle stubbornly avoids her gaze.

Due to the obvious tension between the two, to allow some privacy, or perhaps simply to allow Kyle a reprise from the castle where he was, as far as Sheila knows, traumatized, Sheila decides to send the pair out on a turnip pickup. Kyle is surprised; lately, his mother had been going out of her way to block opportunities for Kyle and Bebe to leave the castle. The rebels generally contact one another through coded messages and subtle interactions in an unreliable and sluggish game of whisper-down-the-lane, but rarely, larger groups manage to meet in person, often in the woods late at night. Bebe and Kyle have only ever made it to a handful of these meetings. They always go together, and evading Sheila’s watchful eye is a strategic nightmare. Now that she has stopped sending them out on pickups, attending meetings has become nearly impossible. The suspicious timing of this change is one reason Kyle and Bebe worry Sheila has become aware of their unlawful side project.

Finally, Kyle sees an upside to the uncomfortable elephant in the room and the pity it grants him. The timing couldn’t be more opportune; the next RR meeting is tomorrow night, and Kenny is going to be there.

********

The next day, Kyle and Bebe head out before the sun has even risen. Their destination is a village not far outside the castle, but one that takes a half-day to reach, even with the horse. Lemmiwinks is such an old animal that he actually slows them down more than he helps, but they need his cart to carry all the turnips. They push him to go as fast as possible; they need to make good time now in order to conceal their detour later. Sheila expects them back around midnight; if they make good enough time, they’ll have a one-hour window of opportunity.

They collect the turnips and load Lemmiwinks’s cart, then travel back to the edge of the village nearest the castle. They rendezvous with Gregory, an overly optimistic rebel sympathizer, who promises to guard their haul and lends them a much younger, faster horse that gets them to the woods with little time to spare. When they arrive, nine people are assembled; the meeting appears to have been going on for a while. Kenny greets them with a smile. He is the unofficial and unspoken leader of the Republican Rebels, effective at his job and yet weirdly upbeat about life in general. Kyle has no reason to dislike the guy, but he really doesn’t like interacting with Kenny; Kyle tends to have nightmares about Kenny following these meetings. In the dreams, Kenny always dies. The method of his demise varies each time, but it’s always something gruesome and deeply unsettling. Adding to the weirdness, in real life, Kenny manages to remain eerily healthy for an unruly peasant.

“Kite! Sunshine!” Kenny calls, addressing Kyle and Bebe respectively. “Long time no see! Any news from within the swamp?” Kyle rolls his eyes at the unimagined code names. Somehow, a bad joke about the King being a slimy frog stuck, and naturally, he lives in the swamp and his son is a tadpole.

Before Kyle can respond to Kenny’s inquiry, Bebe places a hand on his arm. She is giving a look that clearly says, _don’t_. Kyle realizes that she still doesn’t believe him. Defiantly, he turns back to Kenny and says, “Possibly. We need more time to confirm our suspicions.”

“Interesting, but also pretty god damned vague. C’mon, Kite, at least give us an idea.”

“I’ve,” Kyle takes a deep breath, “had direct contact with the tadpole.” This gets the laser-focused attention of everyone assembled, even a few condescending assholes who tend to belittle his contributions to the cause. Wanting to savor this, Kyle stares directly at Craig, the most condescending of all assholes, when he adds, “and I’ll have more information soon. I don’t know much yet. He is actually pretty fucking stupid. It’s like extracting sap from a boulder.”

Kenny is watching Kyle with narrowed eyes, clearly debating whether or not to trust this information. “How exactly did you get close to the tadpole?”

“I,” Kyle searches for the right wording. “Um.”

Craig pipes up, his nasally voice as obnoxious as ever. “You know, there’s been gossip all over the village. People are saying the tadpole selected some lowly kitchen boy for his birthday fuck. The frog was pretty pissed off about it.”

Kenny raises his brows, biting his lip to keep a grin from blossoming. He is not cruel, but Kenny has a filthy sense of humor and a bad habit of being insensitive. “Wait—“

Bebe interrupts, “Look, it’s not important how Kite got access. What matters is, this a huge break for all of us. We could really learn a lot. Even if the tadpole is too stupid to know much, that also means he is too stupid to keep secret any information he may have.”

Kyle feels himself beginning to forgive Bebe for her distrust, even though he can tell she continues to doubt his ability to extract useful information from Stan, and the specifics of how and why Kyle gets to spend time with him. Despite that, at the moment, she effectively shut down the topic of who the Prince may or may not have screwed on his birthday.

“Okay,” Kenny nods, “there is certainly no downside to doing whatever you can to manipulate that inbred fuckwit’s son. Best of luck to you, Kite.”

Kyle and Bebe depart shortly after. In record time, they return Gregory’s horse, collect their turnips, and guide Lemmiwinks back to the castle, arriving at ten past midnight. If Sheila suspects anything, she hides it better than her distress over Kyle’s previous adventure.

********

The next morning, Kyle washes his hands and makes the first cut to an onion when he is immediately called away by a young woman. He recognizes her as Rebecca, one of the Prince’s personal servants. She gestures Kyle over, toward the doorway of the kitchen, and says, “His Royal Highness, Prince Stanley, orders your presence.” She has spoken barely above a whisper, yet when Kyle glances behind him, all faces are turned toward them; they were obviously eager to eavesdrop. Wanting to punch every single one of them, he follows Rebecca.

Stan is standing a foot from the doorway when they enter, beaming with excitement, and Kyle can’t help but think of an overactive puppy. Stan struggles to retain this optimism in the face of Kyle’s barely-concealed resentment, yet somehow manages. Stan asks, “Are you ready to teach me today?”

Kyle tries not to sound as drained as he feels. “Yes.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Stan leans in close, inspecting the bags under Kyle’s eyes. 

“Yes,” Kyle replies, resisting the urge to shove Stan away.

“Are you mad at me?”

Kyle thinks about this. He is angry, yes, and everything pissing him off is definitely tied to the Prince; Bebe’s distrust, his mother’s sickening pity, his coworker’s guilty interest in the lurid details of his exploits, and their entertained fucking faces when he was called up this morning. Yet Kyle can’t help but concede that none of that is directly Stan’s fault. “No. Well, I am a little mad. But I guess not really at you.”

“Dude, if this is you a little mad, I’d hate to see you regular mad.”

Kyle glares, not at all charmed by Stan’s persistent happiness. “I get the feeling it’s only a matter of time before you do.”

Stan smiles, leaning in closer, his face barely an inch from Kyle’s. He observes, “You know, you’re kinda scary.” Stan takes a step back, but he is still smiling, the cheery fucker. “Nobody should be this unhappy all the time. Do you ever just, like, relax?”

Kyle closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, quashing a thousand venomous insults. “Let’s start your lesson.”

“Okay, awesome!” Stan beams. “I want to eat breakfast first. Have you eaten yet?”

Kyle’s response is a derisive laugh that causes Stan’s smile to slip again, and for the first time, Kyle feels sorry. So he tries again, with slightly more kindness, “No, I haven’t.”

“Ok!” Stan turns around and shouts, “Girls, breakfast!” He then takes Kyle by the arm and tries to lead him toward the table. Stan’s touch is gentle, but when Kyle rips his arm away, he does so with unnecessary force.

“Don’t touch me,” Kyle snaps. Again feeling sorry, he tries to demonstrate more patience. “You can tell me where you want me to go. I’m not a plaything for you to carry around.”

Stan’s expression flashes petulance, but only for an instant. “Okay.”

“Not okay,” Kyle corrects. “You’re sorry. When people fuck up, they say sorry.”

Stan huffs, “Okay, I’m sorry. Now, sit there.” He points to a chair at the dining table.

“Don’t command me, ask me.” Kyle again corrects, this time with less patience. Stan stares blankly. Kyle scowls; in his head, he is screaming, _For fuck’s sake!_ “Please. Say please,” Kyle says. When Stan continues to hesitate, Kyle starts to pull at his hair. “Dude. Just repeat after me. ‘Please have a seat here.”

“Please have a seat here,” Stan repeats, gesturing to the chair. Kyle walks over and sits. Stan goes to do the same, taking the chair across Kyle’s, but then pauses, his ass hovering over the cushion awkwardly, mid-sit. He searches Kyle’s eyes for disapproval. Finding none, Stan sits.

They wait in uncomfortable silence, Stan’s eyes darting around the room, Kyle focused on messing with the positions of his numerous utensils. Finally, Lola emerges with a shining, silver tray full of breakfast foods: biscuits and jam, diced fruit, and porridge. Wendy is behind her, carrying dishes and glass pitchers of fresh juice and water, and Rebecca goes to open the windows, filling the room with the sounds and smells of a lovely autumn day. After depositing the food and beverages, Lola, Wendy, and Rebecca retreat to the corner of the room where they loiter.

Stan covers a biscuit in raspberry jam and devours it before realizing that Kyle isn’t eating. “What now?” Stan mumbles, his mouth full of slimy red biscuit goo. Kyle bends forward, banging his head on the table with just enough force to make a dramatic sound. How can Kyle teach this dumbass about the complicated political environment of his kingdom when he can’t even get through one meal without wanting to push the guy out a window?

“What?” Stan repeats.

Kyle lifts his head, covers it with both hands, takes several deep breaths, and then slowly uncovers his eyes. “Fucking hell. Okay, first, you need to thank people when they do you favors.”

“What favor?” Stan looks around the room, as if he’ll find the answer somewhere. “Wait, the food?” He glances down at his plate. “Did you make this?” He looks up at Kyle. “Um. Thank you?”

"No!" Kyle bangs his head on the table again. “Dumbass! The girls! When someone brings you something, you say, ‘Thank you’!”

“Okay.” Stan turns to the girls, and it’s weird for everyone; clearly, he is in the habit of completely ignoring their presence. “Thank you.”

“Good.” Again thinking of Stan as an untrained puppy, Kyle smirks a little, considering how well the analogy fits. “Wendy? Could you please take away some of our utensils? Nobody needs six forks.” 

“Wendy? Who is that?”

“Her!” Kyle yells, pointing to Wendy. “How long has she been around you? You don’t even know their names? Fuck!” Kyle struggles to shut up and calm down, unsettled by how deeply troubled Stan looks, and how Kyle keeps catching himself feeling remorse. “I’m sorry. It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

When Wendy comes over to collect the forks, Kyle gives Stan the most reassuring, supportive look he can muster. He quirks his eyebrows as if to say, _’Come on, you know the answer to this one.’_ Stan smiles at Wendy. “Thank you,” he says; his eyes dart to Kyle and then back, “Wendy.”

They spend the rest of the morning practicing basic manners. By lunchtime, they still haven’t left the room or taken a break. Kyle instructs Stan on the basics of setting a table. Kyle explains that, “Normal human people help one another as equals”, but he says so not unkindly, but more akin to friendly jesting. Kyle is smiling to himself as they eat, watching with subdued pride as Stan addresses the girls by their names, thanks them, and keeps his mouth shut while chewing. Kyle can’t help but see this meal as a kind of final exam.

After they’ve finished eating and Lola is sent off with the dirty plates, Stan stands and approaches Kyle’s chair. He can’t quite meet Kyle’s eyes, preferring to gaze down at the carpet. “Please, will you join me in the garden? Or, do you want to go back now?” Stan asks. Kyle easily crushes the teeny tiny bit of guilt he feels about spending the afternoon slacking off, and accepts.

Never in his life has Kyle had the freedom to lay around all day, and certainly not in such a beautiful place. Having been again plagued by nightmares following his meeting with Kenny—this time Kenny was caught stealing medicine and burned at the stake—Kyle is even shorter on sleep than usual. He lays around on the soft grass and drifts in and out of sleep, lulled by the soft chirping of birds, the scent of fresh lavender, and Stan’s nearby presence. Stan is currently acting stupid and adorable with some dog, and Kyle is struggling not to find it endearing as he falls back asleep.

“Kyle?” Hearing Stan’s voice, Kyle opens his eyes to find the daylight fading and Stan hovering over him. “Wake up. Father called for me, so you should go back. Wendy will take you.” Kyle pulls himself up. He rubs at his eyes, yawns, says his farewell to Stan, and follows Wendy back to the basement.

When they arrive, Bebe is there to intercept them; she is standing outside the doorway, her arms crossed and her face worried. Spotting Kyle, the worry vanishes, replaced by anger. “Are you… are you fucking mooning?” She whispers, seething.

Kyle’s eyes widen, his voice high-pitched and a little guilty-sounding. “What? No!”

Bebe opens her mouth as if to speak, but no words come out. She stares, furious, then shakes her head slowly. Without another word, she turns and storms off, leaving both Kyle and Wendy to stare at each other, dumbfounded.


	5. Chapter 5

Things are tense between Kyle and Bebe for a while. She claims to want to believe Kyle, but her deep-seated loathing of royalty makes it a challenge. Adding to her bruised feelings, Kyle’s visits to Stan’s room increase over the next month; pretty soon, he is spending more time with the Prince than her. Kyle continues to tell Bebe every detail of his day, though, and she eventually warms to the idea that perhaps Stan did somehow escape the Marsh curse of being an insufferable asshole. 

The one remaining problem: she still doubts that they aren’t sleeping together. Kyle sees himself losing this argument, especially now that his heart is not the only thing warming up to Stan, and Bebe can definitely tell.

“Tell me everything when you get back,” Bebe instructs, same as she does every morning when one of Stan’s girls come to collect Kyle. 

“Of course,” Kyle assures her, as always.

It’s been five weeks since his first meeting with Stan, and Kyle regrets ever calling him an idiot. It’s always been a beloved insult of the bitter commoners; the royals are inbred, growing stupider with each new generation. There was never any reliable information on the Prince; thinking about this now, it makes sense, given that Stan was kept sequestered in the castle for most of his life. That didn’t stop the villagers from devising all sorts of nasty stories about him, though. Kyle knows them well; he spent most of his teens helping concoct them.

In reality, Stan has a way with people, smooth and delightful, and is impeccable at keeping his changing views clandestine. Kyle always worries that Stan will slip and thank a servant in the wrong company, but Stan has a flawless record of keeping his time with his father and his time with Kyle in two neat, completely separate boxes. Except, Kyle is privy to all the King’s information, but not the other way around.

In return, Kyle shares his wealth of knowledge with Stan. Beyond details about the state of the kingdom, Stan occasionally wants to know the villagers’ opinion of him. Kyle evades the question by stating, truthfully, that the villagers have little to no information on Stan. He doesn’t mention the malicious rumors, nor that he himself is the only person to have come to them with real information, and that all he did was reaffirm their vitriol.

As for his membership to the Republican Rebels, Kyle considers himself on sabbatical. He hasn’t attended any additional meetings and does what he can to avoid known messengers. The little information he does have, he gets from Wendy, the one person he trusts to balance her allegiance to the rebels with her fondness for Stan.

It’s an ever-present worry, though. Kyle assumes word is getting around that the Prince is becoming overly attached to one servant—Stan confessed his father was bringing up this concern more and more—and therefore Kenny must be expecting information at any moment. Kyle doesn’t know what he would say to Kenny; he can’t in good conscious spill Stan’s secrets, even if he can’t see a way to be entirely honest with Stan, either. He just knows he can’t sit around with a bunch of rebels, laughing at the thought of the King and his son dying gruesomely at the hands of a mob of unforgiving villagers.

********

“Father mentioned it again last night,” Stan says. He is laying on his back in bed; it’s late, but neither of them are sure of the time. The stars and moon are out in full force.

“What?” Kyle asks, although he knows. Stan knows he knows, so he doesn’t bother to continue the conversation. The King does not approve of how much time Stan is spending with Kyle, but it’s not yet an urgent threat to Kyle’s safety. They fall back into silence. Kyle is trying to work up the energy to get up and leave, but this bed is so comfortable, and his mat is so not. Besides, he sleeps in a room with dozens of people, half of whom snore, and most of whom have questionable hygiene. He doesn’t know if Stan snores, but he likes to think that he doesn’t, or that if he did, Stan could stop by sheer will, out of courtesy for his bedmate. He smells nice, too.

Kyle also doesn’t look forward to the glint of judgement in Bebe’s eyes, as if she somehow knows he spent half the day in bed with Stan. _Talking._ Yes, they spend a lot of time in bed together, but that’s only because it’s the most practical place; it’s where everyone assumes they’ll be anyway, and it’s private. But they only talk. Like, for instance, today, Kyle was explaining some of the intricacies of the Cartman Empire’s past campaigns. Stan had trouble believing Emperor Cartman was only eight years old when he first conquered a neighboring kingdom, but it’s true.

Kyle doesn’t realize that he has started drifting off to sleep until Stan gently prods him back awake. “Do you think it’s weird,” Stan whispers, afraid of being overheard, “That I have four personal servants, and they’re all pretty young women?”

Kyle chuckles and says, “No.” Stan is watching him intently, something Kyle is becoming familiar with. Stan wants to ask a question to which he already knows the answer, but Stan is afraid of being wrong, and so he wants Kyle to spell it out, just in case. “Your father placed them here for you to, um, you know. Enjoy. Intimately.” Kyle wags his eyebrows, trying to lighten the mood, and possibly to distract from the fact that they’re a few centimeters away from the legal definition of cuddling.

“Jesus,” Stan mumbles, burying his face in a pillow. “I didn’t realize that.” He stews in his embarrassment for a few minutes, long enough for Kyle to suspect that Stan has fallen asleep. But then Stan turns his head, again facing Kyle, “Wait. That ball...”

Kyle smirks. “Yah, that was a King Randy original idea. If it makes you feel any better, we all assumed it was just another way for him to demonstrate power and fuck with our heads. Nobody thought he _had_ to do it, in order to teach his son what dicks are for.”

Stan’s face turns red. Kyle laughs, trying to act like his face isn’t turning red too. “Um. On an unrelated note—” Kyle mutters.

“As opposed to a note related to my dick?” Stan teases. Stan may be oblivious at times, but he is an expert at reading people. He correctly pegged Kyle for a total prude and has been using it to fuck with Kyle ever since.

“Ugh, fucking shut up. Look.” Kyle clears his throat, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s really late, we’re both exhausted, and I don’t exactly want to wander all the way back to the basement in the dark, so. Could I, just, sleep here tonight?” 

“Of course,” Stan replies. Kyle expects him to make another joke of it, but looking over, he sees such sincere happiness in Stan that a weird fluttering thing happens in his chest.

“No funny business, though,” Kyle insists, trying to make himself look menacing. It isn’t working; Stan’s smile is still growing.

“Define funny business,” Stan says.

“What the hell do you think I mean? Just. You know. No. Funny. Business.” Kyle repeats.

“It gets pretty chilly in here at night. What if we drift together in our sleep?” Stan presses.

Kyle’s face is giving his hair a run for its money, as far as shades of red go. Actually, Kyle would love if that happened, but he is overly proud. He can’t decide if the coziness would be worth the damage to his reputation with the RR. Perhaps worst of all, it would retroactively prove Bebe right.

Eventually, Stan stops waiting for Kyle to respond and arranges himself for sleep, pulling Kyle toward him until he’s snug against Kyle’s back, arms around him. Once Kyle has settled down, and most importantly, not reached back to punch him, Stan buries his face in Kyle’s hair and whispers, “Is this funny business?”

Kyle releases just enough of his pride to whisper back, “No.”

********

Three days later, Lola comes to retrieve him, and before Bebe can give her typical parting instructions, Kyle’s little brother intercepts him. “Before you go, I need to tell you something,” Ike says, already pulling Kyle off to the side.

“What?” Kyle asks. He can’t begin to guess what this is about. Ike says maybe ten words to him annually.

“Mysterion isn’t stupid. He knows you’ve been avoiding us,” Ike states.

Kyle jumps, his eyes wide. “Ike, what the fuck!?”

“Shh!” Ike hisses, “Don’t be dramatic. And don’t give me that look. I was in the book club long before you.”

“But,” Kyle gapes back. “When I joined, you were only six years old!” He wants to think this is a prank—Ike does have a pretty twisted sense of humor—but that wouldn’t explain him knowing the code name for the RR, or for Kenny.

“Right,” Ike says, “And by then, I had already been a member for three years. When you jumped on the bandwagon, Mysterion decided it would be best to keep you in the dark about my involvement.”

Kyle is stunned silent. He also feels incredibly stupid, outfoxed by a child. “Wh—“

Ike interrupts, “There’s no time. Look. We see you’re getting sucked in, so the time to act is now. If you care about us at all, about this kingdom, you’ll do what needs to be done.” Ike takes Kyle’s open hand, places a small vial on his palm, and closes his fingers around it. “This is foxglove nectar. Slip it into the tadpole’s food. Today. If you don’t, consider yourself expelled from the book club. Tip the tadpole off, and consider yourself Mysterion’s number two enemy.”

********

Kyle follows Lola in a daze, still grasping the vial. It speaks to the brilliance of Ike and Kenny that they would prevent him any opportunity to consult with Bebe, or even a chance to dispose of the poison without the possibility of getting caught by a guard, or Lola, or literally anyone who may be passing by. If only Wendy had been the one to collect him today. Even now, Wendy is Kyle’s only hope of disposing of it safely; hopefully he can pass it off before Stan notices anything. Wendy is also the only person he can think to ask for help in dealing with the RR; Bebe is too close to Ike, both in terms of proximity and emotions.

When Kyle enters the room, he is already tense; when he sees Stan, his anxiety ratchets up to infinity. Stan is waiting for him just a foot from the doorway and he is furious. Kyle assumed it was only a matter of time until they fought about something, but today is not the day for it, the one time he walks in with a vial of foxglove in his fist.

“Father told me some interesting news today.”

Kyle freezes, the blood draining from his face. He should have tossed the vial on the way up. He should have taken that risk.

“Father has been keeping watch over a group of peasants,” Stan begins; that he is reverting back to this word is a very bad sign indeed. “They have been plotting against him for a while now. He didn’t want to worry me with the news before, but this morning he finally had to. You see, he isn’t the one-dimensional villain you seem to think he is. He has a heart, and feelings. He worries about me all the time. You should have seen his face. Do you know what he told me?”

Kyle can’t speak. He focuses on remembering how to breathe.

Stan continues, “He said that someone close to me is one of these scheming peasants. This person has been bragging to all their friends about what a gullible fool I am.”

Kyle did say those things, but not since that first day, and the words have haunted him since. Kyle wants to defend himself, but he can’t, not without confirming Stan’s suspicions. He can’t be honest without admitting his involvement, or worse, implicating Bebe, Wendy, Ike, and all the others. So he keeps his mouth shut.

“Apparently, because I’m such a slow, stupid, easy target, this person is going to try and poison me. Maybe even in my own room.” He stares Kyle down, looking utterly terrifying. “This is your chance, Kyle. Tell me the truth. For once, be honest.”

“I—,” Kyle’s voice is croaky and weak, “I wouldn’t do that.”

“So if I searched you, right now, I’d find no suspicious powders?” Stan steps closer. “Or an empty vial? Perhaps you already snuck it into my orange juice.”

“No!” Finally, Kyle is able to regain his voice, which grows stronger as Stan’s accusations veer further from the truth. “I said, I wouldn’t do that!”

Stan closes the gap between them with one step. He easily traps both of Kyle’s wrists with one hand, holding them behind Kyle with force, but shy of causing pain. Stan’s other hand is free to search, but it’s not necessary; the incriminating vial has already fallen to the floor. Kyle should be pissing himself in fear, but he is too overwhelmed by the realization that Stan is so strong, has been all this time, and yet never used that strength against him before today. And Kyle’s been such a little shit ever since they met.

In fact, Kyle realizes with sudden clarity, Stan has never done _anything_ wrong. Stan may have been pampered and well-fed, but he was a victim of his father too, having been isolated and brainwashed. All he ever did was reach out for help at overcoming it. If Stan did make a mistake, it was putting his faith in Kyle. Feeling like the biggest douche in the universe, Kyle starts to cry.

“Tell me,” Stan continues, his fury making way for grief, “what have I ever done to you? Not my father; me. What did _I_ do? I know we met in a bad way, but as soon as you told me there was more to know, I asked for your help. I trusted you to help me. I’ve been nothing but honest. I tried to be good to you.”

“Nothing. You did nothing wrong.”

Stan narrows his eyes, “So why?”

“I told you, I was never going to go through with it! That’s why I was just holding it. I was coming here to tell you,” Kyle insists. This isn’t entirely true; he came to ask Wendy for help, but he won’t dare allude to her. Wendy is possibly Stan’s strongest ally, but he probably won’t believe that.

“Or you thought I wouldn’t notice, because I’m just an inbred idiot, right? That’s why you expect me to believe you now?”

Kyle is starting to hyperventilate; his arms are still trapped behind him, and the four inches of height Stan has on him suddenly feel massive. “Yes, I told them you were stupid, but I didn’t know you yet! I don’t think that anymore! You’re bright, and sweet, and really–” Kyle pleads, but Stan cuts him off.

“No way. I’m done falling for your bullshit.”

“It’s true!” Kyle implores, “I—“

“If you really think so highly of me,” Stan asks, his voice alarmingly mean, “Why didn’t you just refuse when they asked you to poison me?” When Kyle hesitates, Stan continues, speaking faster and with increasing anger, “Because that makes it seem like you put these other people above me. These people who would sentence me to death for... what? What is my crime, Kyle? You claim to be big on people getting fair trials. When was mine?”

Kyle could try to argue. He could explain, ’The other rebels aren’t bad people. Yes, they have an unfair opinion of the wealthy and the powerful, but they’ve been badly hurt. Trying to convince them the son of their mortal enemy is a friend would be almost impossible. I was literally backed into the corner; Ike is family...’ But he doesn’t plead his case any further, knows he has lost this argument, guilty of too many of the accusations. So, Kyle just bows his head and cries harder.

“You have a lot of harsh words for my father,” Stan whispers, “but you’re not a very good person either.” Stan doesn’t bother with the guards; he personally throws Kyle out.

********

Kyle heads back to the basement at a near-run, too consumed by guilt to consider how he must look, a sobbing servant wandering the castle without an escort. When he arrives at the kitchens, he makes a bee-line to his bed, refusing to acknowledge the inquisitive stares of his family and coworkers, although he does notice Ike looking pissed.

Bebe is at his side in an instant. “What happened?” she asks. Kyle buries his head in his arms, unable to answer. “Did he... does he know? Did he find out?” she presses, and Kyle nods.

Bebe sits back against the wall, closes her eyes, and tries to remain calm. Neither of them says anything, but they both understand that they are enjoying a few last minutes of peace before the guards come to take them away, this time for good.

But the guards never come. They wait through the rest of the day and most of the night, until they finally fall asleep. In the morning, they awake to find Sheila nudging them toward a basket of carrots that need peeling. Kyle was caught red-handed trying to assassinate the King’s only son, and there will be no punishment.

“You were right,” Bebe whispers over the sound of their knives hitting wood, her voice small and unsteady, “he is a good person.”

Kyle doesn’t have the energy to point out the obvious. Too little, too late.


	6. Chapter 6

On the surface, everything is simply back to normal, the way things were before the ball. Kyle and Bebe do their work in relative peace, gravitating together constantly, and Kyle and Ike don’t speak to one another. There are small hints of the upheaval though; most recently, Kyle ran into Wendy, who informed him that she and the other girls had been relocated to the basement as seamstresses.

Kyle is furious with Ike over the betrayal, but through Wendy, he gets new information that marginally softens his opinion of his little brother. Ike himself was following orders, Kenny’s, and later stuck out his neck to prevent the RR from retaliating against Kyle for his failure. Although firmly expelled, along with Bebe, Ike did manage to somehow convince the others that Kyle had been caught, rather than betrayed the cause. This was almost impossible to do, considering Kyle wasn’t currently hanging from the gallows, but Wendy’s source also heavily implied that Ike is not only a long-standing member of the RR, but a second-in-command of sorts, answering directly to Kenny. Still, Ike may only ever get this one favor, and yet he cashed it in for Kyle’s sake.

Nine days after his fight with Stan, a young woman comes calling for Kyle. Unable to hold back a feeling of hope, Kyle follows her up the stairs. Then she takes a wrong turn, and suddenly Kyle is in a panic. He is placed in a room similar to Stan’s, equally spacious and elaborately decorated, but definitely unfamiliar. When the Queen steps in to welcome him, Kyle can barely reorganize his thoughts in time to remember to bow. “Your Majesty.”

She smiles and waves a hand through the air dismissively. “There is no need for formalities in my chambers. Call me Sharon,” she says. When Kyle just stares back dumbly, she laughs. “Or, would you feel more comfortable with Ma’am?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Kyle replies immediately. Sharon gestures for him to take a seat on a plush sofa, and he does. The fabric has been warmed by the sunlight streaming in through nearby windows. Looking around, Kyle notices the entire room is decorated in a way that emphasizes light, with brightly-colored furniture and large paintings of flowers hanging on every wall. Sharon hands him a steaming cup of tea, served on fine china, and only then does he notice there are no servants floating around. He looks up at her, amazed. “I guess now I understand where he gets it from. Ma’am.”

She takes a seat on an armchair across from him. “So, you know what this is about,” Sharon states. Usually, Kyle would reply to an obvious question like this with sarcasm, but he can’t find anything but admiration for this woman. She is like a better version of his own mother, more gentle and kind. And he loves his mom.

“First,” Sharon says, “I must scold you, on behalf of my son, but then I will help you. Understood?” When Kyle nods, she continues, “You must understand exactly what Stanley is going through. For sixteen years, his entire life, he believed himself to be adored. He was surrounded by loving friends and servants. He would grow up to inherit a kingdom full of devoted subjects. Stanley completely trusted everyone around him, even his father.

“Then you came, and told him everything he ever knew was a lie. That these people who surrounded him, night and day, actually despised him. That his father was manipulating and lying to him. Can you imagine how that felt?” she asks. Of course Kyle can imagine; it’s all he has been thinking about since they fought. Sharon continues, “He couldn’t trust anyone he had trusted before, so he looked for someone new. Stanley took the trust he once had in everyone else, and put it all into you. And now, he is completely alone, except for me.”

She observes Kyle with sadness, allowing the silence to linger. “I—” Kyle begins, wanting to defend himself, despite feeling lower than dirt. Sharon raises a hand to silence him.

“Before you say anything else, I have two questions for you. You don’t have to worry about the safety of your secrets; I don’t answer to anyone, or meddle in politics. Will you be fully honest with me?”

“Yes,” Kyle replies firmly.

“Did you intend to poison my son?”

“No,” Kyle says, hoping she can tell how true this is.

“Very well, I believe you.” Sharon says. “I also understand the precariousness of your situation. I appreciate the risk you took in educating him. I don’t have as much access to Stanley as I would like, but I had noticed the positive changes, even before your argument.” After which, it seems, he spilled everything to her. “You didn’t tell him about your past, however. Why was that?”

Kyle stares down at his hands, folded together tightly on his lap. “I didn’t want to hurt him,” Kyle says, knowing that’s only barely true. He has never really had any problem dishing out harsh truths. When Kyle looks up, he sees the Queen staring at him with admonishment; he promised this woman honesty. “I didn’t trust him,” Kyle amends.

“And that,” Sharon says, “is where we reach an impasse. I think your relationship with Stanley is highly beneficial to the both of you. Stanley is much too passive and innocent, and you seem to hold a lot of fire and mistrust. This kingdom won’t be saved by angry rebels spilling blood, nor by Stanley becoming a replica of his father, but by fairness and stability.

“But I can’t in good conscious help you if you won’t trust him. He fully believes you intended him harm, and yet he hasn’t sought punishment. He protected your secrets from the King, from everyone except me. Is that enough for you to promise him your loyalty?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Kyle answers honestly.

********

Kyle struggles to distract himself with work, washing cabbages, trying not to guess how long it might take for the Queen to earn forgiveness on his behalf. Kyle doesn’t know how much influence she really has; he thinks very little, but he has also has come to accept that his information is not nearly as reliable as he once thought. Sometime later, an eerie silence falls over the kitchen, and Kyle looks up.

Stan is standing at the entrance. “Red,” he calls, harsh and without emotion, “Follow me.”

Kyle is jumpy as he hurries over to Stan. He is not worried about the tone Stan used; that is merely the necessary behavior for addressing commoners in public. Everyone is watching them, though; never has anyone higher than the lowest rank of guard stepped foot in the kitchens before, so nobody knows the etiquette here. Should they keep working? Stan relieves them of this uncertainty by shouting, “Don’t you all have work to do?” before pulling Kyle out by the arm.

“Sorry,” Stan whispers, “I don’t have any servants anymore, and I don’t trust the guards. I had to get you myself.”

“About that—” Kyle whispers back, thinking of Wendy hunched over fabric with a needle and thread, but Stan shushes him.

“Later.”

They hurry back to Stan’s chambers. They each take a seat at the table, facing one another. Noticing Stan’s grim expression, Kyle realizes he isn’t yet out of the woods. “Mother seems to think I should trust you,” Stan begins.

“You can,” Kyle says in a hurry.

“We’ll see. Do you plot against my father in your free time?”

“Yes,” Kyle answers, “Well, no. Not anymore. I’ve been kicked out.”

“So there’s an organized group of you?” Stan asks.

Kyle hesitates at first, but keeping his promise to the Queen, again answers honestly, “Yes.”

Stan leans forward, narrowing his eyes. “And who gave you that poison?” he asks. Kyle falls silent; he runs his hands along the wood of the table, reaches into his hair to pull at his curls, fidgets endlessly, and can’t seem to keep his eyes from darting around the room. Stan leans back in his chair, arms crossed, looking impatient at first, but then sympathetic. “I’m not asking so I can hurt them,” Stan assures him.

Kyle finally stills himself by gripping his elbows with his hands, hunching forward against the table. He looks at Stan with all the beseeching remorse he can and replies, “My little brother.”

Surprised, Stan uncrosses his arms, his lingering meanness vanishing. “Just how many of you are there?”

“I don’t really know. I didn’t even know about Ike—my brother—until he cornered me with, well. You know,” Kyle mumbles, again averting his eyes.

“Anyone I know?” Stan asks.

“Wendy,” Kyle immediately replies. Then, speaking quickly so as to not give Stan any chance to doubt her loyalties, “But she never said anything bad about you. Ever. You really should bring her back here. She is likely your best and oldest friend.” Kyle also mentions Bebe, though this is obvious, as well as the only other castle member he knows about, a guard by the name of Mitch.

“Okay, I’ll have Wendy brought back here right away,” Stan says. “Ike, too,” he adds, and Kyle’s face goes white with terror.

“No, you can’t—”

“Not to hurt him, I just want to ask—”

“No, you don’t understand. Those rebels? Most of them think I tipped you off. Ike somehow convinced them to leave me alone, but if they find out I’m up here spending time with you again? And we’ve interrogated Ike? We can’t do that. Then again, Ike saw you come to collect me, so I’m probably already fucked—” Kyle is rambling, talking mostly to himself at this point.

Stan stands up and walks over to Kyle, resting a hand on his shoulder to ask for silence. “You said it yourself. Now that we’ve reconciled,” Stan says, lifting Kyle’s spirits immensely, “Your brother will know. Isn’t it best to at least try to bring him over to our side? You said he defended you to the others, so he can’t be completely unreasonable.”

Kyle considers this. Stan’s right; their only choice is to try and change Ike’s mind. Wanting to kiss Stan, he takes Stan’s hands and presses his lips to them instead. “I’m really sorry I ever called you stupid.”

********

Ike is struggling with the guard—Mitch, who Stan specifically requested—so hard that he has to be physically carried into the room, his feet flailing in the air. Kyle wonders if Ike made a scene in the corridors and stairwells as well. He considers how pointless and reckless that would be, and starts to feel intellectually superior to Ike once again. Once you’re caught, there is no reason to draw unnecessary attention to yourself. Dipshit.

“Ike, calm the fuck down!” Kyle says, exasperated. “We can’t talk until he leaves,” meaning Mitch, “and he can’t go anywhere until you _calm the fuck down_.”

Stan steps forward, considering the thrashing boy. “I’d tie him up and gag him,” Stan says, addressing Kyle, “but that’s playing into his fantasy about what this is a little too much, don’t you think?”

Wendy arrives then, without an escort, and looks between Stan and Kyle, and commotion with Ike and the guard. She stands there pokerfaced, and Kyle realizes it’s because she is not sure how much to divulge, unaware that Stan knows everything now.

“He knows everything, Wendy,” Kyle explains, filling her in. “Now we just need to convince Ike to stop being a jackass.”

Finally, Ike stops struggling. “Wait, Wendy is in on this too? Jesus, how many of you have defected? I know Kyle’s an idiot, and Bebe does whatever Kyle wants, but Wendy? You’re smarter than that!”

His taunting causes an instant transformation in Wendy, from a blank-faced servant and into a fiery menace. Stan and Kyle jump into action, and they hurry to shuffle Mitch out of the room; Wendy’s obviously got this.

She storms over to Ike, who freezes like prey. Everything about her demeanor is suddenly terrifying, and Kyle makes a silent vow to never, ever piss her off. “Shut up.” Wendy seethes, bending down so as to speak directly at Ike, her stony eyes baring into his. “I heard about what happened. You pleaded with Kenny to clear Kyle’s name. You care, and part of you suspects Kyle is the one going about this right, not Kenny.

“I’ve spent the past week shaking down every last one my contacts for information, and it’s been quite fruitful. The rebels are badly splintered.”

This is news to Kyle, and he turns to Stan with a wide-eyed look that he hopes relays this fact, but Stan is preoccupied, finally understanding Wendy to be more than just a pretty statue who sometimes brews tea.

Wendy is still going at Ike. “A lot of people don’t trust that the outcome of a rebellion would be a good one. Worst of all, Kenny’s reached a ceiling with converting the villagers, hasn’t he? Far too many of them refuse to ditch their blind faith in the royal bloodline, no matter how bad things get. That’s why Stan had to go, right? Try to shake up those holdouts, show them the monarchy was doomed anyway? Do you understand how stupid and dangerous that plan was? Kenny practically sent Kyle to the gallows himself.”

“You say that like I didn’t know,” Ike tells her, intimidated yet defiant. “No, I wasn’t thrilled with Kenny’s orders, but it needed to be done. For the cause!”

“I’m not accusing Kenny of malice,” Wendy concedes, “But something is not right with the guy. His level of carelessness is inconceivable. With all the risks he takes, it’s a goddamned miracle he hasn’t died yet. I really don’t think he understands the rest of us are mortal.”

Before Ike can justify his recklessness any further, Stan steps in. “Your beef is with me, right kid? Is there anything I can do to convince you to trust me?”

“No,” Ike says. “Nothing.”

Wendy takes a deep breath, readying herself for more threatening, but Kyle is faster; he shouts, “Do you know what an incredibly stupid thing that is to say, Ike? You’d rather lose the war than admit to being wrong about just one thing?”

“Fine.” Ike flashes Stan a cruel grin. “Kill your father. Then I’ll believe you.”

“Try again, asshole.” Kyle says, delivering a sharp kick to Ike’s shin.

Ike shouts in pain, glowers at Kyle, and then turns his sour face to Stan. “Okay then. There’s a really bad outbreak of pox in the west village. Your father has thousands of vaccines, but he is hoarding them for absolutely no reason except extreme selfishness. I want you to deliver them to people who actually need them.”

“Alright, I’ll try.” Stan says. Ike is stunned, but so is Kyle. The pox outbreak, and the King’s unwillingness to share his stockpile of vaccines, is one of the greatest atrocities in the history of the kingdom. The RR has been plotting solutions for a decade, including pooling money to try and reproduce the vaccine. Dozens of rebels have died trying to steal from the King’s stash. Stan knows this; Kyle explained a censored version to Stan during one of their afternoons together, and yet he is acting like Ike requested a mere glass of milk. Kyle tries to read Stan’s face, to guess if he is playing Ike in some way, but then decides to just take the Queen’s advice and trust Stan’s judgement. 

“But while I look into that,” Stan says, “I don’t exactly trust you. Sorry dude. I’m going to ask Mitch to make sure none of you leave this room.” He looks at Kyle and Wendy apologetically, but they wave it off, not offended in the slightest.

“We have a lot to discuss with Ike anyway,” Wendy says, with just a touch of hostility.

Stan heads out to find his father. He is gone for maybe two hours, during which Kyle and Wendy continue to harass Ike, who eventually admits that Wendy was right; he isn’t entirely sure Kenny is right, or Kyle is wrong. Once they arrive at this truce, they have Mitch call for some snacks. When Stan finally returns, they’re at the table with a basket of bread, taking turns dragging it through a puddle of olive oil and pesto. They look up to find Stan speechless and looking nauseas.

“What happened?” Kyle asks. “Your father wouldn’t allow it? Or—does he suspect?”

“No,” Stan says, “Father wasn’t anywhere in the castle, so I ordered some guards to help me locate the vaccines. We found them stored near the east wing, boxed up like Ike said they’d be. A few soldiers are delivering them now.”

“So,” Wendy ventures, “What’s the matter?”

“Well, when I was seeing them out, with the supplies,” Stan says, looking like he may vomit or faint at any moment, “Father returned. He’d been out in the woods with a small army. He captured some guy, someone he claims he was responsible for organizing rebels and plotting my assassination?”

Kyle, Wendy, and Ike are all silent. Stan seems to want one of them to ask the question, so Kyle finds his voice. “Do you know who he captured?”

“It’s weird,” Stan says, dropping onto a chair. “He had a really weird name. Do you know someone named Mysterion?”

They do. Of course they do. Kyle looks to Ike, worried he might somehow see this as evidence of treachery, but of course it’s impossible. Kenny never came up in his conversations with Stan today, not until Wendy arrived, and more importantly, there simply wasn’t enough time for a betrayal to occur.

“I’m sorry.” Stan says, “I’ve been ordered to attend his execution. I have to go now. I don’t think I can stop it. I don’t know what I could say without putting all of you at risk, and there’s no time—“

“Go, don’t worry,” Ike interjects. “Kenny wouldn’t want us to take the risk. He made peace with this fate a long time ago.”

Stan looks like he’d rather start a war than watch a public beheading, but pulls himself up and walks, zombie-like, into his bedroom. Wendy follows, and shortly after they return, Stan dressed in what Kyle can only assume is formal attire specifically designated for executions. He is queasy with the knowledge that Wendy seemed to know which outfit this was.

“Have you done this before?” Kyle asks, perhaps insensitively.

“No. Apparently this is part of my training, now that I’m sixteen.” Stan’s face is very green, and he is shaking badly. “But also, father was really proud when he told me. He didn’t even care that I was there handing out those vaccines without his permission. He was just so happy to have caught this criminal, and protected me.” Stan stands there, in the middle of the room, in his formal execution robes, trying not to cry. He looks directly at Kyle; in addition to everything else, he’s worried that Kyle will go back to hating him now. “Kyle, this execution is for me.”

Kyle crosses the room in four strides and pulls Stan to his chest, unfazed by the possible judgement of Wendy or Ike. He wraps his arms around Stan and presses his lips to Stan’s temple, whispering, “No, it’s not.” When Stan seems unconvinced, Kyle begins to kiss his eyelids, nose, cheeks, and then lips. “You have to go, because one day you’ll replace him, and then everything will be okay.” This is childishly optimistic nonsense, but Kyle wants to equip Stan with comforting thoughts to get him through the evening. It’s the same kind of wishful thinking that Kyle was prepared to use to survive a night with a sadistic prince, but never needed to. “Remember, you helped a lot of people today. You’ve got to pretend to be okay with this, but we know you’re not.”

After a pause, Kyle looks back at Ike, glaring, daring him to disagree, but Ike looks stunned by the sincerity of Stan’s compassion. Ike mutters, “Yah, of course.” Wendy is nodding too, tears dripping down her cheeks and onto the carpet.

Kyle frames Stan’s face with his hands and presses another kiss to his lips, this one firmer, born of something other than pity. Stan doesn’t wait a second, burying his hands in Kyle’s hair and returning the kiss like he’s been waiting months for permission to do so. They stand wrapped up together until Wendy gently clears her throat. She looks truly sorry to be interrupting them. “Stan really needs to go,” she whispers.

They cling to each other for another minute, but then Stan carefully extracts himself from Kyle and leaves the room without another word, looking just a little steadier than before.

Though they are free to go, Kyle, Wendy, and Ike wait in Stan’s room in silence, huddled together on the sofa. A few minutes past ten o’clock, Stan returns. They know it’s done by the look on his face, even before he rushes into the bathroom to vomit.


	7. Chapter 7

Kyle and Wendy hurry to follow Stan while Ike hangs back uncertainly. Kyle wants to look after Stan, but he can already feel bile creeping its way up the back of his throat. Puke is disgusting, worse than blood, and the sound of it splashing against the bottom of the chamber pot is making him dizzy with revulsion. Wendy is kneeling beside Stan; she has her hands gently resting on his shoulders, and she looks confident to handle things, so Kyle retreats back to the main room. He approaches Ike, who is looking a little woozy himself. “You should probably go back,” Kyle suggests, “before mom starts freaking out any more than she probably already is.”

Ike nods and leaves without another glance toward the bathroom. Kyle watches him go, then paces the room with his hands over his ears. He tries to block out the sound of Stan’s retching, willing his stomach to stop twisting, wishing he wasn’t such a delicate snowflake about these things. Eventually, he notices Wendy guiding Stan back to bed, having helped him undress and wash up. Stan’s eyes are red and glistening, although this could simply be the result of having forcefully emptied his stomach.

Once Stan is situated in his bedroom, Kyle and Wendy have a short, whispered conversation by the doorway. They promise to meet again tomorrow, to plan their next move, and then say their goodnights. Wendy leaves, presumably to reclaim her old room, a small, nearby servants’ quarters. Without asking permission, or saying anything at all, Kyle crawls into Stan’s bed. He finds Stan laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling; he is awake, but obviously not in any mood to talk. Kyle crawls over to his side, dropping down halfway on top of him, and rests his face against Stan’s neck, his fists clutching the fabric of Stan’s sleeping tunic. By the time Kyle finally manages to fall asleep, the sun is already rising.

********

When Kyle opens his eyes, he finds Stan awake and staring at him. Stan has that look, the one where he wants to ask a question, but he thinks he already knows the response. Stan seems miserably worried, presumably expecting an upsetting answer. Kyle wonders how long he has been awake, distressed over whatever it is. Wanting to ease Stan’s anxiety, at least as much as he can, Kyle asks, “What?” His voice is scratchy from sleep, and also from not enough of it.

“You spent the night again,” Stan observes.

“Yah,” Kyle says, unsure if he should apologize for not asking beforehand.

“Because you felt bad for me?” Stan asks, his voice full of anxiety.

“No, because I wanted to.” Kyle replies, firmly.

Stan looks relieved, but only slightly. Of course, he is also worried about the events of the previous night and their unpredictable aftermath, but there seems to be something else bothering him. Stan is still staring at Kyle like he did something wrong, and like he dreads Kyle finding out. Needing to wake up more before he can deal with this, Kyle stretches, but as soon as his left leg slides over the lower half of Stan’s body, Kyle knows exactly what the trouble is.

“I’m sorry,” Stan says quickly. “It’s just. It always does that. In the morning.”

“That’s okay. I’m not mad,” Kyle replies, a little amused and very confused; Stan isn’t exactly a prude.

“I’m sorry,” Stan repeats, starting to sound genuinely upset. Kyle realizes, for the first time, that Stan probably feels tremendous guilt over their initial meeting, perhaps haunted by everything he planned for that night, had Kyle not come in ready to bulldoze both their lives. Kyle never thought much about it; at the time, he was too relieved that he slipped away with his honor intact, and since, he has been too distracted by wondering what it would have been like.

If only Stan were privy to Kyle’s thoughts, then he wouldn’t look so distressed now, victim to his body proving nothing other than his normalcy and good health. Stan has likely been policing even his thoughts, whereas Kyle often uses inappropriate reveries to get through long, dull hours of kitchen work. Unlike Stan, Kyle goes to bed every night looking forward to his scandalous dreams, which keep increasing in both intensity and frequency.

When Kyle tries to understand why he hasn’t yet acted on these urges, he comes up blank. For fuck’s sake, they only ever met because of Stan’s physical attraction to him, so fear of rejection is off the table. And if Kyle’s sour personality was such a turn-off, as Kyle briefly worried, why would Stan keep staring at him with that face that begs for approval? Sure, there hasn’t really been a suitable time to show his hand—now certainly isn’t appropriate—but if Kyle allows that to be an issue, he could very well end up waiting forever, or at least until Stan represses himself into insanity.

Kyle studies Stan’s face as he mentally walks himself through the justification for what he wants to happen next. Toward the end of Kyle’s thought process, it appears that Stan is catching on; he is starting to look hopeful.

When Stan gives him an inquiring look, Kyle responds by slipping his hand under the blankets and sliding it down to Stan’s inner thigh. He lets it rest there, teasingly close to where Stan presumably wants it. “If you want me to do it,” Kyle murmurs directly into Stan’s ear, attempting to sound alluring, “Just say please.”

Stan’s response is immediate. “ _Please._ “

********

When Wendy knocks on the door, some hours later, they’re still in no state to receive her. “Shit,” Stan groans, having not yet recovered from his third orgasm of the morning. Kyle can barely keep his eyes open, prolactin mixing with sleep deprivation in a big way, guaranteeing he’ll be useless for a while. Kyle rolls onto his stomach and buries his face in a pillow, effectively communicating that he will not be the one to deal with Wendy.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she says, having let herself in.

“What? We had a lot of trouble sleeping last night,” Stan responds, defensive.

“Stan, really?” Wendy sounds incredulous. “Come on.”

“Okay, so maybe we got sidetracked this morning,” he concedes, his face a brilliant red, “But we also barely slept last night, because of nightmares and stuff. That’s true too.”

“Fine.” Wendy huffs. “Not that I don’t approve, but we really need a plan, and soon. I’ll be in my room. You have two hours. I suggest you actually use it to sleep.”

True to her word, Wendy returns exactly two hours later. Kyle is washed and dressed, thanks entirely to Stan, who eventually lost patience with Kyle’s sloth and physically picked him up and dropped him into a bath. Kyle is currently taking up the entire sofa, lying on his side, half-asleep, the cushion fabric under his mouth darkened with drool.

Wendy takes a seat at the table with Stan, who is waiting there with parchment and ink. “So while you two were napping, I did a lot of thinking. You know, so we don’t all end up like Kenny.”

“Wendy,” Kyle scolds, “Be nice.”

She ignores him and says, “I consulted with Bebe and Ike this morning. It turns out nearly every servant in the castle is already on Stan’s side. The general story is, if Stan was able to spend an hour with Kyle, let alone several weeks, without throwing him off a mountain,” she says, ignoring Kyle’s affronted _Hey!_ as well, “Then, the positive rumors about Stan must hold some truth.” She smiles demurely at Kyle. “I’m paraphrasing here.”

“Okay,” Stan ventures, “So then, what’s the next step?”

“Well, I think we need to send some people out into the villages. There are a lot of nasty rumors floating around out there, and now that they’ve watched you show support for the execution of their most beloved champion—” says, her voice fading out toward the end, the gravity of their situation finally chipping away at her cheery demeanor.

“I’ll go,” Kyle volunteers, knowing that’s what Wendy was fishing for.

Stan turns to Kyle, furious, “No way in hell will you go!”

“Excuse me? Who do you think you are, ordering me around? Some kind of royalty?” Kyle retorts, trying to make a joke out of what is probably going to become a fight.

Stan fumes, but Kyle is sympathetic; he knows Stan is merely concerned for his safety, aware of exactly how dangerous the villages can be. Kyle once explained about them at length. He felt badly about painting so many people in such a negative light, but when food and supplies are scare, some people naturally resort to violent chaos. There are plenty of good villagers out there, too, and Kyle is still someone who fights for change, even if he has been kicked out of the official club.

“He won’t be going alone,” Wendy says. She is trying to avoid a fight too. “Ike and Bebe will accompany him.”

“And guards, right? I’ll order some trustworthy—“ Stan says, but is interrupted by Kyle and Wendy’s simultaneous _No._

“Look, Stan,” Kyle explains, “A lot of the villagers’ distrust stems from this... absolute separation, between so-called commoners and the people who feel like they’re above them. Guards are just another kind of barrier. We need to show them vulnerability. It’s an essential display of sincerity, and trust.”

If anyone understands the value of trust, it’s Stan, but he still looks devastated, as though he were just ordered to oversee Kyle’s execution.

“It’s okay, I’ll be safe,” Kyle assures him. He actually won’t be safe at all, but they’ll never convince enough people if they remain here, allowing information and rumors to be mutilated by the walls of the castle. Very few villagers will be able to grant trust until those ramparts start coming down.

********

Before Kyle, Bebe, and Ike even make it out the front gate, they start to overhear gossip, a favored pastime of castle guards. ‘Did you hear? The prince has finally replaced that boy with a new, pretty young thing. Now His Majesty can stop worrying the Prince has gone funny.’ Obviously, the King keeps a closer watch on the comings and goings of Stan’s servants than they realized; Wendy only returned to Stan’s service a few days ago. Bebe seems to find this amusing, whereas Kyle just scowls, his tell-tale hair hidden under the hood of an old brown tunic. Kyle hates that he cares, hates that he is inexplicably bothered by these rumors.

Kyle soothes his ego with a few nasty thoughts about guards, but then commits to staying focused. According to the plan, carefully strategized by Wendy, the trio will spend approximately two weeks traveling from the castle to the furthest village, then back again on the opposite side. To maximize the grassroots spread of their proselytizing, they are to skip over contiguous villages, as well as the most dangerous ones. They bring Lemmiwinks to carry supplies. Stan begged them to take at least one good horse as well, but they explained that they earn more points by having a decrepit animal, even if that means less chance of a speedy getaway in a dangerous situation.

At first, they find themselves confronted with almost universal animosity toward the King and his son. Accusations of sadism and greed permeate the villages closest to the castle. Hardest to deal with are the few villagers who personally witnessed the execution. Stan never really discussed what happened, but apparently the crowd is expected to jeer at the accused and then celebrate once the sentence has been carried out. Stan had to do this, too.

Yet they soon learn, particularly once they venture further outward, that the positive rumors about Stan have spread further than by even their most optimistic estimate. Ike’s widespread reputation for allegiance to the common people—how the hell did Kyle not know about him, again?—is especially beneficial to the group. Then, they have the best few days of all, at a string of villages on the east side, far from the castle. Receiving the best news of the trip, they learn that the vaccines really did arrive safely.

Sixteen days later, they reach their last destination. They are exhausted, emotionally and physically, from weeks of talking down mobs of crying, screaming, terrified people and convincing them to put their faith in the King’s elusive son. Now, they are facing the most difficult trial of the journey, a village Wendy warned at length about. Early into the excursion, as they ventured further from the castle, they had time and distance on their side; many villagers hadn’t yet heard about Kenny, so Kyle, Ike, and Bebe could be first, notifying them in way that included Stan’s secret, well-intentioned motives.

Now, once again nearing the castle, they are approaching villagers who have had time to process the news of Kenny’s execution in their own way. This last village was one of the first to hear about it, so these people have had nearly three weeks to cement their unflattering feelings and opinions concerning Stan’s involvement.

Mercifully, the people recognize Ike here too, and the crowd reluctantly agrees to consider his appeal for trust in the Prince’s motives. Following a mediocre success, they spend their final night on the road in relative comfort at Gregory’s house. In the morning, they can finally make preparations to return to the castle. In the end, the journey took three days longer than expected, and Stan is surely losing his mind to worry. They collectively decide not to tell Stan every little detail about their time away, such as the few times they were chased away by pitchfork-wielding mobs, or the rock someone threw at Bebe’s face, or that time Kyle woke up to find a scorpion in his hair.

With Lemmiwinks packed and Wendy’s list fully crossed off, three very hopeful, well-rested people set off. Kyle is particularly dreaming of fresh juice, warm bread, and lavender-scented baths, but feeling appropriately guilty for craving these extravagances, especially given the recent reminder of how the rest of the kingdom lives. 

Before Gregory’s hut is even out of view, they’re stopped by the voice of a young girl shouting, “Wait!”

Kyle recognizes her as Karen, Kenny’s younger sister. “I have something to say,” she shouts. Karen is shaking with fury, her arms secured at her sides. She moves toward them slowly, and it’s crystal clear that Ike’s words did nothing to move her. “He stood there,” she seethes, tears stinging at her eyes. “And after they murdered my brother, he applauded. You come here, and you try to convince my friends and neighbors that he is a decent person? I was there. I watched him cheering for my brother’s death. He’s a fucking monster.”

She is addressing Kyle directly now, standing right in front of him. “And I’m done standing back while you prance around defending him.” Ike is the first one to spot the glint of silver, but Karen is too fast for him. She plunges the dagger deep into Kyle’s abdomen, managing to wound him twice more before Ike can grab her and haul her away.


	8. Chapter 8

Kyle drifts in and out of consciousness, his brain too fuzzy to focus on any one thought for long. At times, he is aware of Ike and Gregory’s presence as they hurry to carry him to the castle. He vaguely recalls Bebe dashing ahead for help. At one point, Kyle has enough lucidity to even feel for poor Lemmiwinks, likely stumbling behind them, the pathetic animal panicked and unable to keep pace with his human guides in an unfamiliar place.

Despite his sporadic thoughts, Kyle keeps coming back to one in particular, a mental image of Stan collapsed over his body, gasping on sobs. This shouldn't make Kyle want to smile, the thought that this boy he has only known for three months would be devastated over his death; but it does, enough that at one point he hears Ike and Gregory discussing whether or not it’s a good sign if an injured person won’t stop grinning to themselves.

When they finally reach the castle, Bebe is waiting to receive them along with the Queen and her best healer, Victoria. Understanding the rest to be out of his hands, Kyle finally allows himself to black out.

********

When Kyle opens his eyes, Stan is indeed at his bedside, hunched forward with his elbows resting on the mattress, seated on a basic wooden chair. But Stan’s eyes are dry and his face is stoic, and this makes Kyle frown.

“Are you in any pain?” Stan asks.

“No,” Kyle responds petulantly. He badly wants to roll onto his side, both for comfort and to turn away from Stan’s apparent lack of concern, but he doesn’t, knowing not to disturb his stitches.

“Are you sure? You look like you’re in pain.”

“No, I feel great,” Kyle replies, now scowling. “I’m just tired.”

“But you’ve been sleeping all day,” Stan says, cautious and sounding exhausted.

“Well fucking excuse me, then, I forgot castle slaves don’t deserve rest. I’ll head downstairs immediately to prepare your dinner, Royal Highness,” Kyle bites back. Stan looks wounded, staring at the floor like a kicked puppy, and Kyle is immensely pleased with himself. Kyle shouldn’t be bullying Stan for pleasure, but his emotions feel entirely out of his control, even more so than usual. He also feels cheated; okay, so he pulled through the night, but even still, shouldn’t Stan be a little more upset right now?

Then, just as suddenly as it came, his anger evaporates. A feeling of wretchedness swiftly replaces it, and Kyle starts crying. This, in turn, increases Stan’s distress, and Kyle cries even harder from guilt. Kyle feels badly for being a dick just then—no wonder Stan isn't that upset to see him hurt—but also because a few pieces of string are all that’s holding in his internal organs, and thinking about this makes him queasy. Kyle wants to apologize for his bizarre mood swings, but he can’t get the words out between hiccups and sobs.

Stan must understand at least some of Kyle's incoherent blubbering, because he says, “Hey, hey, no. It’s okay. Victoria gave you a tonic for the pain, and she said it might make you act weird. You’re okay. This is just a side effect.”

“It’s not okay, I almost died and you don’t even care!” Kyle shouts, all pride out the window.

Heartbroken and at a loss for words, Stan carefully lifts himself onto the bed, arranging himself around Kyle. He presses his cheek to Kyle’s and strokes his hair, whispering, “You’ve been out for days. When they brought you here—and you’d lost so much blood—Kyle, you have no idea what it was like. Of course I care. I can’t do any of this without you. I couldn’t even think about what I’d do if—” his voice cuts off. Stan is not quite crying, but his breathing has become irregular, quick and shallow. Kyle remains quiet, comforted by this answer, but not trusting himself not to ruin the moment with yet another mood swing. He allows himself to be coddled, and eventually calms down enough to fall back asleep.

********

He later wakes, again to find Stan on that little chair at his bedside; this time, Stan is asleep too, having toppled forward onto the bed.

“Hey, dude,” Kyle whispers, prodding Stan, “I’m totally tripping balls right now.”

Stan stirs, lifting his head up with obvious effort. “Victoria,” he says around a yawn, “Said she gave you a different kind of tonic this time. It’s stronger, and um, has different side effects.”

“Stan, I can smell color.”

“Right,” Stan says, not really listening, “Look. I asked her to switch because you had such a bad reaction to the last one, but, and please don’t be mad, but this tonic has another use, sometimes. Just be aware that it makes it difficult for people to be deceitful.”

Kyle isn’t mad. He isn’t sure what mad is, actually. He also didn’t really hear what Stan said. “Stan,” Kyle whispers with urgency, “Do you think it’s cool that I got stabbed?”

“No, Kyle, I don’t,” Stan says with some difficulty. Kyle looks petulant; obviously, getting stabbed is totally bad ass, and he really wants Stan to get that. “I’m never letting you leave the castle without a guard again.”

Kyle takes a while to respond, momentarily distracted by the rainbow ferret sleeping on Stan’s head, and the wizard stealthily replacing his hair, one strand at a time, with yarn. “I don’t want to go back to the villages. It’s filthy and most of the people are dicks.” He is silent for nearly five minutes, watching as the wizard slowly slips out through the window. “I really don't understand you, dude. If I were born royalty, I'd have totally milked that shit. Maybe your dad had a point, and some people are only mad ‘cuz they’re jealous.”

Stan hurries to look around the room, ensuring nobody else overheard that. “Okay Kyle, maybe you should go back to sleep now.”

“No way, I’m too hungry. Village food sucks ass.”

“Okay, I’ll go and fetch you some food, okay? Just sleep. And maybe don’t talk anymore,” Stan suggests, patting Kyle's head.

********

Stan returns soon after, so soon that Kyle wonders if this tonic also affects his grasp of time. When Stan approaches his bed, Kyle's confusion only intensifies. "Stan, what happened to you? You look, like, fifty years old."

"You refer to my son by his Christian name? Who exactly do you think you are?"

"Your son—? Oh." _Shit_ , he thinks, watching the King's lip curl into a sneering smile.

"Tell me, why were you seen carried into the castle by a known rebel, that English twerp? Why were you injured? Where have you been for two weeks?"

"Um." Kyle can't focus, can't get his brain to cooperate. He tries to form an excuse, but his thoughts keep snapping back to the truth. 'I was getting vegetables, and turned your subjects against you... no, I fell on a pitchfork, because you killed Kenny...' Still, the lack of hallucinations and his ability to at least somewhat focus is promising. The tonic is wearing off, slowly, the pain of his injury starting to crescendo. He just needs to stall until his wits return. "Uh."

"That's what I thought. What were you doing out there? Who else is involved?" Randy asks. Kyle presses his lips together in protest, glaring mutinously. "Fine," Randy says, "I have descriptions of the two other people involved. One of them, is she your friend? The pretty little blonde thing? I'll go and ask her some questions instead."

"No," Kyle blurts out, against his better judgement.

"Oh, yes. So what's her name? Where in the castle can I find her?" When Kyle has effectively re-sealed his lips, Randy steps forward and presses two fingers into Kyle's wound, pushing down on the stitches until they begin tearing at his skin, his fingers sinking deeper.

Kyle grinds his teeth, refusing to let the pain do anything except focus his thoughts. Finally, he can put together a plausible excuse. "Bebe, her name is Bebe," he chokes out. When Randy pulls back, Kyle continues, "She isn’t involved at all. She just follows me wherever I go, because she is in love with me. Trust me, nobody else is stupid enough to be involved. I figured I only had a little time before Stan tired of me, so I wanted to use it to fuck with the both of you. I thought I could convince some of the other peasants, too, but obviously they weren't forgiving of my treasonous ramblings," Kyle says, gesturing to his abdomen, now stained with fresh blood.

Randy looks triumphant. "I knew it! I told Stanley, I told him you shouldn't be trusted, but he assured me you were too simple to be involved in anything. Then I caught that traitor, that Mysterion, and he wouldn't give up any of his friends either. But I knew, my son would never have chosen some, some," Randy says, gesturing to Kyle like he is a pile of rotting garbage, unable to put words to his level of distaste and disapproval. "And you say that gorgeous blonde fancies you too? Obviously you have some sort of secret, evil power."

While Kyle struggles to think of a way to respond to this accusation, Stan returns, carrying a bowl of soup. He is smiling for a split second, but then he registers the presence of his father and freezes. Randy puts up a hand and says, "I'm sorry, son. I warned you not to get attached to any one bedmate. This one has just confessed to treason. I know he used his daywalker powers on you, so you won't be required to attend the execution this time."

********

Kyle's sentence is death by hanging, and overall, he is pleased with this outcome. Less blood, less mess. He did interrogate his executioner on the way to the gallows, trying to discern how they prepare for smaller prisoners; what is the success rate for, say, petite women? Worst case, what's the average time it takes for someone to suffocate when their neck fails to snap? Kyle has a black eye and bruised arm to show for his chattiness, but at least the guy didn't aim for his stomach. He never did answer Kyle's questions, though.

The crowd is small, which is understandable considering how last minute this whole thing is. Usually, the King would announce an execution early enough to allow his faithful subjects time to journey to the gallows and enjoy the spectacle, but after the commotion in the infirmary, King Randy decided to get it over with quickly. Stan was obviously under the influence of dark and powerful daywalker magic. He needs to be freed as soon as possible.

Kyle smiles, flattered, remembering Stan's reaction to the news. It took five guards to drag him away from the infirmary, and each of them will have countless bruises to show for it tomorrow. Kyle hopes Stan gets over his death, regroups with the others, and marches forward, for the sake of the kingdom. Kyle should probably be more upset over his own demise, but he isn't, not really, not when the circumstances surrounding it are so ideal. He is protecting his best friend and brother, accomplished something significant, and has a handsome, charming prince to mourn for him.

His executioner delivers a sharp kick to his knee, causing Kyle to stumble forward, held up by the guards on either side of him. "What the fucking hell is wrong with you?" the hooded man says, delivering a second kick. "Quit smiling. You're a dead man walking. Act like it."

Kyle doesn't spot Gregory in the crowd, which makes sense, considering the King was already on to him. He is probably in the dungeons, scheduled for a similar fate tomorrow. He does see Karen, and is surprised to see her looking remorseful rather than pleased. Then again, he can't really remember what he did to make her angry enough to attack him in the first place.

They don't put a hood over his head, which Kyle finds somewhat rude. He hasn't watched any hangings himself, but he thought that was customary. When he mentions this, his executioner replies by tying the rope around his neck much tighter than necessary. He doesn’t answer this question, either.

Randy reads aloud a list of Kyle’s crimes, and then sentences him to death. Kyle closes his eyes, refusing to let his mind wander back to Stan’s tear-streaked face as he was dragged away. If he lets himself grieve their fleeting time together, he won’t appear to be as unhinged and uncaring as he led Randy to believe. So he thinks about Randy’s alcohol-soaked, probably-diseased liver instead, smiles, and waits. Then waits, and waits, and waits. Finally, he peeks open one eye, and finds the executioner surrounded by guards, the King looking murderous, and everyone staring at Stan. He has arrived, accompanied by the same five, bruised guards that took him away earlier.

"What is the meaning of this?" Randy demands, addressing the guards, "I ordered you to keep him in his room!"

"Aren't you the one always telling me how stupid guards can be? You should have specified how long they needed to keep me. They did take me to my room, for about a minute," Stan says. It seems these guards are among the majority that favor Stan, having found hope in the rumors of his benevolence. "If you go through with this, I'll leave, and then you'll have to wait and try for another son, and risk your enemies finding out you're without an heir."

This is such an effective threat that Kyle is surprised they didn't use it sooner. "Son," Randy says, pleading, "This daywalker has you under a spell. I'm doing this for your own good."

"What the hell is a daywalker?" Stan looks to Kyle, who shrugs, the rope still around his neck. Stan turns and glares at his father. "I'm under no spell. Look how quickly your guards turned on you. Pardon him, swear to leave us be, and we'll try to help you live out the rest of your days in comfort, and as King," Stan says.

As soon as Stan utters the word _king_ , an angry rumble permeates the crowd of assembled commoners. One man shouts, "No more Kings!" He lifts a dagger and aims at Stan, but the man’s arm is held back by Kenny. Kyle stares hard at Kenny; for a split second, he is deeply confused. Wasn't Kenny beheaded a few weeks ago? No, Kyle remembers, no, that was just another vivid nightmare.

The other onlookers assist Kenny in holding back the man, preventing further attempts at violence. The majority of the crowd agrees with Stan; they’ve finally been moved to join his side, and if there were ever any lingering doubt, Kenny’s strong show of support just quelled it.

Randy, now surrounded by mutinous guards and confronted by a jeering mob of peasants, reluctantly concedes. Stan personally undoes the rope around Kyle’s neck, not trusting the executioner not to hit the lever out of spite. As Stan guides Kyle away from the gallows, he pauses in front of his father to ask, "And what the fuck is a daywalker?"

"Redheads. You can't trust them. Some even have powers of manipulation," Randy says, eyeing Kyle. "Emperor Cartman told me all about them."

Rolling his eyes and muttering about inbred idiots—Kyle can't help but smile at that—Stan shakes his head and continues walking toward the castle.

********

Randy and Kyle come to a fragile truce based around the only thing they have in common: affection for Stan. Kyle puts a minimum amount of effort into acting respectful toward the King in public, and Randy doesn't call Kyle out on his obvious insincerity. In reality, both are playing the same game, biding time until one or the other either falls out of favor with Stan, or simply drops dead.

Kyle never fully lets his guard down, too wise to make himself vulnerable. Randy would have him killed in an instant if he could, and they have even larger issues to contend with, such as the Cartman Empire's worrying offensive actions in the Stotch Kingdom. For now, though, the people of the Marsh Kingdom are living a little better. Thanks to the servants' and villagers' ever increasing loyalty to Stan, he has essentially gained unchecked authority. King Randy mostly keeps to himself, drinking and occasionally wandering the castle in his underthings, raving about the dirty little daywalker succubus that ruined his life. He has become nothing but a figurehead, an illusion they keep going for the sake of the kingdom's reputation abroad.

With Randy out of the way and Kyle’s assistance, Stan is free to redirect much of the castle's stockpiled supplies, including medicine, farming equipment, and even basic weaponry. They drastically decreases the amount of food brought into the castle, and make waste a crime, diverting uneaten food back to the mouths of the poorest villagers. Slowly, things start to improve throughout the kingdom.

********

On the morning of Stan's seventeenth birthday, Kyle is in Stan's lap. They’re in their room, in their bed; Kyle officially moved in six months ago, and had no problem taking immediate ownership of everything Stan had to offer. They don’t usually do this in the mornings; both Stan and Kyle keep themselves busy with various duties that begin at sunrise, but today is a special occasion. Kyle initiated, having woken up early and crawled on top of Stan, peppering him with kisses and nudging him until he roused.

They kiss for a while; Kyle uses the comfortable familiarity of this to calm himself down. He is nervous, but also excited, though before anything happens, he’ll have to get the words out. When Kyle breaks the kiss, Stan immediately moves to his neck. "Um," Kyle says with some difficulty, "So, happy birthday."

Stan has the nerve to look surprised. "You remembered?"

"Of course I did!" Kyle says, offended.

"Wendy reminded you, didn't she?"

"No," Kyle mutters. Stan raises an eyebrow; he knows Kyle too well. "No," Kyle repeats, "She didn't. Bebe did. Two days ago."

“So that’s what this is,” Stan says, gently pushing Kyle backward, laying him flat. Once Stan is on top of him, Stan goes back in for Kyle’s neck.

“About your birthday gift,” Kyle says with some difficulty. Stan responds with a _Mm?_ , but doesn’t stop. “It's, uh, that you can do it." His face is on fire, but it’s somehow easier to offer this with Stan licking at his pulse, and his dick already hard. "You know, um, be inside me."

Kyle can sense Stan holding back his excitement; until now, they've been satisfying one another with just fingers and mouths. Stan has obviously wanted to try more, but he has been so good, patient, waiting for Kyle to feel comfortable enough to offer. Kyle has been thinking about it constantly, almost since they met, and he doesn’t want to wait any longer. “Ok,” Stan murmurs, “If you want me to do it, just say please.”

Kyle smiles, props himself up on his elbows, and pecks Stan on the lips. “Please.”

********

Several hours later, Kyle wakes up alone. He tries not to be offended; Stan takes his responsibilities very seriously, and he hates to wake Kyle, particularly because Kyle is a special kind of asshole when he hasn't slept enough. Kyle wonders if Sheila congratulated Stan on his birthday. Stan has a morning routine of first visiting the kitchens, to personally collect his breakfast but also to try and woo Sheila, little by little. She doesn't love him yet, but she is beginning to tolerate him. He wonders if Stan was especially sweet to her today.

Kyle lays around for another hour, knowing Stan is probably busy discussing defensive strategies with Kenny and Wendy. He should really be there—he is Stan's top adviser on all things—but he doesn't see the point if he is going to be this late. He'd only delay them by forcing them to re-explain, and Stan's morning is already hectic and overscheduled so as to free up the afternoon.

He is finally dragged out of bed by Bebe, who arrives with a message from the Queen. For a while, Bebe floated between the kitchens and the defense council, but she took a liking to neither. Now, she has resumed serving the Queen, as her handmaiden. When Stan went to make the introduction, the Queen stopped him; she remembered Bebe, even after all these years. 

"The Queen wants to remind you that she has prepared a birthday banquet in the second-story dining room. When is Stan going to be finished with his meetings?"

"I remember! And soon. I'll go get him now."

Kyle heads down to the ballroom, amused to realize it's the same one that hosted Stan's previous birthday celebration. Now, it's a meeting place for Stan and villagers; he sees about two dozen people each day. There is only one left waiting now; they’re scheduled based upon distance traveled and the urgency of their concerns, so this young man is probably has only a very minor grievance.

Stan sits on an unassuming chair, with guards on either side of him. Stan isn't fond of having them there, and likes to point out that if anyone needs guards, it's Kyle, who has had three near-death experiences to his none. Kyle refutes this argument by shoving Stan out of bed and refusing to let him back until he promises to keep them around.

Kyle wanders up behind Stan. The meetings are private, one-on-one, but nobody bats an eye when Kyle inserts himself. Kyle is the exception to the rule; he is the exception to nearly every rule.

"Thank you, Prince Stanley," the woman is saying, bowing and hurrying off. The final villager, the young man, approaches Stan with a bow. He has a minor concern about aphids eating his family’s strawberry crop, and Stan promises to send Clyde, the resident expert on pest control. The whole meeting only takes about two minutes.

Kyle drapes his arms around Stan from behind the chair. "Well, that was easy."

"Sure, that one was. The first woman, though, she had to travel four days to get here. She came looking for reparations for her husband. Father had him executed for spying. Turned out, he had just gotten lost hunting rabbits,” Stan explains, looking distressed. He still has a lot of trouble facing his father’s various dark deeds, wanting to cling to hope for redemption. “And, that meeting with Kenny and Wendy was rough. Ike and Gregory have worrying news from the south. We need to talk strategy, and soon."

"I'm sorry, that's awful. And of course tell me about the meeting, but later, okay? Try to put work on pause so we can enjoy lunch with your mother. According to Bebe, she has been planning this thing for weeks.”

Stan agrees, and they head to the dining room. It's the brightest one, a circular room in the far corner of the castle, with windows surrounding three quarters of it. The Queen has set a large, round table with a silky white tablecloth, glass goblets, and china delicately painted with flowers. There are real flowers, too, a large bouquet in the center of the table. When they arrive, Sharon, Kenny, Wendy, and Bebe are already waiting. There are only two seats left; Randy was not invited.

Despite Sharon’s excessive planning, the lunch is a small and casual affair among just a few close friends. Stan and Kyle tease Kenny and Wendy for their not-so-secret courtship, and Kenny retaliates by asking Stan how he liked his birthday present. Kyle scowls at Bebe, who obviously blabbed to Wendy, who then blabbed to the boy she is currently sleeping with, but nobody is too upset, having already worked together to polish off four bottles of fine wine. Lunch turns into dinner, and their chatter eventually turns to the future of the kingdom.

Sure, any number of things could swoop in to ruin their hard work. They must remain vigil against these threats, but right now, at this moment, they are filled with nothing but optimism and hope for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it, my first fic is finished. (Although expect frequent edits between now and eternity.)
> 
> Thank you for reading/kudos-ing/commenting, and I hope you enjoyed it! Please remember to be honest with your feedback; I want to keep writing, but I know I have a lot of improving to do as well.
> 
> Finally, if you have any interest in a sequel, let me know! I want to try something different next, but then I may want to revisit this AU eventually.
> 
> (Now to go watch "Fantastic Easter Special" and make myself feel bad for being so mean to Randy...)


End file.
